The Reluctant Governess (21 page)

Eliza thought about skipping breakfast, but she was no coward. Hiding herself in her room would only delay the inevitable embarrassment daylight would bring.

She and Nicholas had parted on friendly terms. Too friendly, really. He had allowed her to look her fill at his body, had responded to her imbecilic questions with halting modesty. He'd been solicitous. Charming. Yet there was a barrier between them even after making love twice.

And that was just as well, wasn't it? Nicholas might look at her with rapture now because she was someone new, but a man with his history wouldn't be satisfied with one woman for long.

The clothes she'd arrived in had been pressed and cleaned by Sir Thomas's staff, but had not been made any more fashionable. After wearing the lovely blue silk dress, it was a comedown to don her own clothing. Eliza examined herself in the mirror—starched white blouse, gored gray skirt, fitted gray jacket. The little maid from yesterday had improved upon Eliza's usual hairstyle. She looked like what she was—a middle-class secretary-governess, far out of her league in this elegant Mayfair mansion.

Carrying her hat and purse downstairs, she was conducted to the breakfast room by Hitchborn. The gentlemen were already seated, but stood as she entered.

“Good morning!” boomed Sir Thomas. “Lovely morning, what?”

Eliza looked out the window. It wasn't, really. The skies were leaden, though the rain had held off so far. “Lovely,” she repeated as Hitchborn helped her into her chair.

“Did you sleep well?” her host asked.

“Indeed I did.” She'd been too sated to think straight or crooked.

Hitchborn was at her elbow. “May I prepare a plate for you, Miss Lawrence?”

“Yes, thank you.” At the butler's nod, a footman rushed to pour her coffee. Now that Eliza was in Nicholas's presence, she was not quite sure-footed enough to get to the sideboard on her own, and was grateful for the assistance.

She glanced up at him and noted the deep circles under his eyes. Goodness, he didn't look as if he'd slept at all. She had, falling asleep immediately upon returning to her own bed. No bad dreams, no guilt, which was something of a miracle.

She hoped Nicholas wouldn't have a relapse. She might be tempted to stay longer and take care of him, and then where would her resolve go?

“Good morning, Nicholas.”

“Good morning.” His voice was scratchy, as if he hadn't spoken to anyone yet today.

“My chauffeur is at your disposal to drive you back to Kensington whenever you're ready,” Sir Thomas said, spearing a chunk of beefsteak and busying himself with the food in front of him.

Eliza was ready now, anxious to leave and get all this over with. The room was unnaturally silent except for the scrape of utensils on china. She was still holding her hat and handbag, and Hitchborn took them from her and set them on a vacant chair after he delivered her plate.

The butler had been overly optimistic regarding her appetite. Another look at Nicholas revealed he was staring down at his plate. It was pristine save for a single sausage that lay in a slick of grease. His paint-covered hand hovered over it with uncertainty. Perhaps he'd never been to bed at all, painting his eyes out as he had the night before. No wonder he was in a fog.

“Do you think it will rain?” Eliza asked of no one in particular. Anything to break up the awkward atmosphere in the room.

“It
is
cloudy,” Sir Thomas said too cheerfully. “What do you think, Nick?”

Nicholas put his fork down. “I have no idea. Very likely it will. Doesn't it always rain here?”

“Sometimes it feels that way. Spring is especially wet, don't you agree, Miss Lawrence?”

This conversation was becoming more inane by the second, even if she had started it. “Yes. A London fall can be very wet as well.”

“And summer is so wretchedly hot and dirty in Town. One would want a bit of rain then, wouldn't one?” Sir Thomas was a touch desperate to keep the weather report going. “Of course, that's why everybody who is anybody goes to the country. Oh, I do beg your pardon, Miss Lawrence. That was thoughtless of me. I meant no disrespect.”

Desperate and now
stricken
. Eliza was certain Sir Thomas didn't mean to be a snob; it just came with the territory when the territory was a gilded cage such as this.

“That's quite all right, Sir Thomas. As it happens, I spent part of last summer in Scotland. It was lovely.” When she wasn't chasing after that little devil Jonathan Hurst and mooning over his father. Eliza cut a muffin in quarters, then eighths. The question was, could she swallow any size at all? Would sixteenths be better? Thirty-seconds?

“Ah! Scotland in the summer!” Sir Thomas approved the change of subject and tried to engage Nicholas in a discussion of a Scottish summer in their past. Nicholas grunted here and there when Sir Thomas paused for breath. Stags, heather, lochs. Eliza concentrated on her mangled muffin and a few forkfuls of egg.

Sir Thomas was being too polite, Nicholas monosyllabic. She was already nervous about today, and the company wasn't helping. Was Nicholas regretting last night? That's not how she remembered that last lingering kiss in the dark when they said good-bye.

Nick threw down his serviette, the sausage still on his plate. “I think we should go, Eliza. If Daniel was on the night boat from Dieppe, he could be arriving at Victoria any minute. I expect he'll go straight to Lindsey Street.”

Eliza nodded. “Thank you so much for your hospitality, Sir Thomas.”

“I'd do anything for Nick's—uh—governess. You're a brave girl taking him on. I mean, all the—all the fuss and whatnot. The—the child-minding is bad enough, and then having to d-deal with Nick and his various afflictions must have been ten times worse. P-poor girl. Not quite the job you were expecting, was it?”

With every word he uttered, Sir Thomas looked more uncomfortable, but it didn't stop him from babbling. Why, for all his money and status, he was shy!

“Tubby, that's enough.” Nicholas was white around the mouth and looked ready to fling his fork across the table. That's what came of staying up all night doing whatever he had done. If it was another nude portrait of her—

“I can't say I haven't been surprised by everything that's happened. Thank you for your concern,” Eliza said, trying to make up for Nicholas's rudeness. Blood and vomit, newsmen, an escaped criminal, Miss Scully, deflowering—it had been a jam full week. Next up was the devil's best friend, Daniel Preble.

“We have to go.” Nicholas took her elbow and steered her toward the door. It was no gentle lover's touch.

“My hat and bag!”

“If you insist. It is the ugliest damn hat, you know.” A footman scurried to the chair and handed her the objectionable hat and needlepoint bag. Eliza hadn't thought twice about it before, but Nicholas was right—the hat was not what it could be. He had an eye for beauty. Eliza imagined he must enjoy buying clothes for his mistresses.

Of course then he removed them.

“Hitchborn, get word to the garage. If I can be of any further service—”

“You've done quite enough,” Nicholas growled.

Goodness, had the men fought before she came down to breakfast? Sir Thomas gave her a helpless shrug and didn't accompany them to the foyer. The space was large enough to waltz in, even with a huge table in its center covered with fresh flowers. Eliza leaned over to take a sniff.

Nicholas interrupted her. “You are not to speak one word to Daniel Preble.”

“I'll have to say something when I open the door.”

“No, you won't. Just hand him that solicitor's card.” Nicholas reached into his pocket and took one from the handful that Coningford had given him. He gave it to her, holding it by the edge as if he were passing her a dead mouse by the tail. There was no hope of physical contact, which was fine. Her elbow still burned from before. Eliza tucked the card into her bag.

“I'll be hiding in the dining room within shouting distance if he tries anything. Damn, but I feel like a coward putting you up to this. Maybe I should get Tubby to do it for us. No, damn it, I forgot. He has a meeting.”

Eliza laid a hand on his sleeve, forgetting the no-touching rule. “I don't mind really. It will be over soon.”

Hitchborn opened the door to the street. Sir Thomas's shiny black Pegasus was waiting. They rode through the streets without speaking. What was there to say? Eliza tried to enjoy the experience of being in a moving automobile. Horse-drawn traffic was thick on the street and the car honked its way through. Fists were shaken and naughty words yelled, marring Eliza's appreciation of the trip.

True to form, there was a pair of reporters out front of the Lindsey Street house when they arrived. Nicholas said a very naughty word of his own.

Eliza stated the obvious. “They were supposed to give up with the house empty.”

“Best laid plans,” he mumbled. “At least they're reduced in number. Ignore them. No, don't even look, no matter what they shout. We're going straight up the steps.” Nicholas had the house key in his hand and pushed her out of the car.

There
was
shouting. Eliza blocked out the words as best she could, her face suffusing with color.

“Head down!” Nicholas growled. “Don't let them see you care.” He slammed the sage-green door behind them. The reporters were up the steps and peering in through the stained glass sidelights in a flash, one on each side, their features distorted. Eliza shuddered.

“Morning room. Unless you need to—”

Eliza shook her head. The sooner she got her wobbly legs out from under her, the better.

Nicholas paced the floor while she collapsed on the sofa.

“We can't ring for tea,” Nicholas said wryly. The house's quiet was a noise all its own.

“Have you heard how Sunny and the others are faring?”

Nicholas nodded. “Tubby's footman sent a message this morning. All's well.”

“That's a relief, at least.” Eliza unpinned her hat and tossed it on a book-strewn table along with her gloves. “She probably looks upon all this as an adventure.”

“It's been far too much turmoil. I want to take her home.”

“You've decided, then.” She had not seen Raeburn Court, but was given to understand by Mary that it was even grander than the Forsyth Palace Hotel.

“Aye.” He ran a hair through his coppery curls. “There's something I want to talk to you about. After this business with Preble is over.”

Eliza swallowed. She
couldn't
stay on, especially now. It wasn't that she found her governess job so difficult—Sunny was a joy. But Sunny's father was pure trouble.

They could never go back to the way things were.

“Things ended last night,” she reminded him.

“They don't have to. I've been thinking. Eliza—”

The doorbell rang. Whatever offer he was going to make her died on his lips.

She reached into her purse for the card. “I'll go,” she said, feeling as if she were marching off to her doom.

Nicholas was right behind her.

“Go away!” she whispered.

“I told you I would be in the dining room.
Do not speak
.”

Eliza pushed him out of the hallway. “It might not even be him.” She didn't think the reporters would have the audacity to ring the bell, but one never knew.

A range of emotions swept over Nicholas's weary face. “Go, then. But by the gods, if that man does anything to you, I'll kill him.”

Nick backed up against the wall just inside the dining room archway. This was all wrong. No matter what Coningford said, he should not be sending Eliza to deal with Daniel. He was perfectly capable of keeping his anger in check, although his fists were clenched in readiness.

The hall clock chimed, making him jump a mile. He heard the door swing open on its creaky brass hinges.

“Miss Lawrence, I presume?”

How did Daniel know her name? Of course, the damned newspapers.

“Cat got your tongue? I know you're not mute—I read of your valiant attempt on the steps to keep the reporters at bay the other day. What's this? A solicitor's card?”

There was an unmistakable sound of tearing. “Cheap stock. I'd tell Nicky to get a better lawyer. I say, Miss Lawrence, may I come in, or you going to let those newshounds on the sidewalk listen to everything I'm going to say with the front door wide open?”

Nick's heart dropped. He'd known from the first this was a bad idea. The door slammed shut.

“Where is he hiding?”

Nick stepped into the hallway. Eliza was as white as a sheet, but bless her, had not spoken a word. “What do you want, Daniel?”

The man looked the worse for wear. He must have raced across the Channel as if the hounds of hell were after him. Daniel's prematurely silver hair was mussed underneath his homburg, his beard untrimmed, his jacket and garish waistcoat wrinkled. And he was missing a tie. He'd been quite the dandy in his day, but one would never suspect that at the moment. Not that Nick looked any better himself this morning, and he hadn't been on trains and boats the last twenty-four hours.

“Pardon my dirt. I was anxious to get our little matter settled. Where is she?”

“Where is who?”

“Don't play games, Nicky. You always lost to the master, as you must remember. The child.”

Master and acolyte. They'd been called Fire and Ice for the colors of their hair as they cut their swath through Europe. Nick felt the bile rise in his throat at his careless concupiscence. “You don't even know her name, do you?”

“It's Domenica. Fanciful, but then Barbara was Italian. I have a solicitor, too, you know. In Paris. He tells me my rights are clear.”

“Barbara wrote a dozen letters to a dozen men before she died. She was desperate.” Nick had no way of knowing that was true, but he'd received a letter himself. It was somewhere in a trunk upstairs in his dressing room, along with the other legal papers and bank statements. He'd have to find them today and give them to Coningford for safekeeping.

This information seemed to give Daniel a brief jolt, and then he smiled. “You're bluffing. You have a tell, you know, when you spin a tale. You tug on that earring of yours. An affectation, that earring, don't you think, Miss Lawrence? But then Nicky always did want to get noticed. Comes of being the afterthought in his family, I expect.”

Nick would not rise to the bait. He felt a fool for ever confessing his stupid grievances to Daniel in the first place. He'd been so young, trying to get old fast in the worst ways possible.

“It's a pity you tore up that card, but I have others.” He stuck his hand in his coat pocket and brought forth another. “I have nothing to say to you. Talk to my solicitor.”

Daniel chuckled. “I think not. I'm sure we can come to some sort of mutually satisfactory arrangement as old friends. Gentlemen.”

“You must be confused. We are neither friends anymore nor gentlemen, for that matter. You need to leave.” Nick stole a look at Eliza. She remained rigid, a chiaroscuro shadow by the telephone console. “You are trespassing. Miss Lawrence, would you be good enough to call the police?”

Daniel's arm shot out and he pulled Eliza to him. “Now, now, let's not be hasty.”

“Let her go!” Nick halted mid-step when Daniel pulled out a small but lethal-looking pistol and aimed it at Eliza's temple.

“Doesn't she smell good, Nicky? Like a lemon grove. You haven't been dressing her, though, that's obvious. I imagine she looks so much better without clothes anyhow. Shall we see? Or have you already witnessed Miss Lawrence's fair charms?”

“Get your hands off her.” Nick didn't raise his voice. He couldn't panic. Eliza needed him—and more importantly, he needed her. If anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself.

“What is your Christian name, my dear? The newspapers didn't say.”

Eliza's lips were shut, just as he'd asked. Her pupils were dilated in fear, though, and if Nick had felt guilty before, the weight of his past life was crushing him now.

“Nicky? Enlighten me.”

“How the hell do I know? It doesn't matter what her name is, Daniel. She's just a governess, totally beneath your touch.” He took a steadying breath. Eliza would thank him for this later. If there was a later. “A shriveled-up, rule-following spinster. Quite frankly, she's a bit of a bore, but she doesn't deserve to be frightened out of her wits.”

“Odd. She doesn't feel shriveled-up. Or boring. If looks could kill, I believe we'd both be dead on your front hall carpet. She's got plenty of spirit in her, isn't that right, Miss Lawrence?” He pressed the barrel of the gun into her skin, and Nick bit back a curse.

“Mr. Raeburn is right. I am a bore. But if you let me go, I promise not to go to the authorities.”

Her voice was remarkably clear. Calm. Nick wanted to borrow some of her courage.

“Hm. Why don't I believe that? If you're such a rule-follower, I doubt my transgression will go unpunished. No, I think I'll keep you by my side. You'll be a valuable bargaining chip.”

“She has nothing to do with any of this. She's only been employed by me for a few days, and I hardly know her, for heaven's sake. Why should I care what happens to her?” It seemed much, much longer than a few days that she'd been here. Nick could not imagine his house without Eliza in it.

“And yet you
do
seem to care. Miss Lawrence, where is Domenica? Upstairs?”

“No. I don't know where she is. Mr. Raeburn sent her away.”

“Why didn't you go with her?”

“I was visiting my mother when the decision was made. A half day off.”

Poor Eliza had had no time off at all, and there had been one disaster after another since she'd arrived. But this morning had reached the ultimate in disasters. Nick edged toward the umbrella stand. There were walking sticks galore, Daniel's own. One swift grab and a blow—

“The one with the silver knob has a concealed blade,” Daniel said conversationally. “Don't even think about it. Where are Mrs. Quinn and that half-wit maid, Nicky?”

“Gone.”

“That's a shame. I wanted to give the old witch my regards. I don't suppose you'll tell me where you've hidden Domenica.”

Nick shook his head.

“You will if I press you, I believe, but we'll leave that for later. So, we're alone in the house. That suits my purposes very well. Perhaps we should move somewhere more comfortable. My bedroom, perhaps?”

“It's not yours any longer,” Nick ground out. But if he needed to transfer the deed back, so be it.

“I've missed the old place. Your little villa in Italy is all very well and good, too, though rather quiet for my tastes, which is why I've been staying with our French friends. But London is really home.”

“What about Paris?”

“Why, Nicky, are you offering to buy me a
pied-à-terre
? I shall consider that as part of our negotiations.”

“I'm not going to offer you anything unless you let Miss. Lawrence go. This stunt is outrageous, even for you.”

Daniel preened. “I must say, it feels rather good to be outrageous again. Just like the good old days.”

“I don't recall guns were ever involved,” Nick said scornfully.

“Perhaps I'm afraid I've lost my persuasive touch. What do you think, Miss Lawrence? What can I persuade you to do?”

“You'll find she's not persuadable, Daniel. Miss Lawrence no doubt holds both of us in complete contempt. She's a man-hater.”

“Then she hasn't met the right man. She's pretty enough, pretty enough to fuck
and
paint.”

Nick watched what little color Eliza had leach from her face. If Daniel saw her portrait in the attic studio, he would know that she wasn't just a governess to Nick. All his lust for her was on display with every brushstroke on the canvas.

Last night's work was very different, and Nick wanted to live long enough to finish it.

He would agree to all of Daniel's conditions. After the initial questions about Sunny's whereabouts, she had not been a factor in this hellish conversation. It was clear Daniel wanted money and property.

And Eliza.

But Daniel couldn't have her. Nick's thoughts were tumbling, wondering how he could disarm Daniel without causing Eliza harm. Maybe it was better to go upstairs, pretend to be relaxed, get Daniel off guard. Daniel was no hulking Phil Cross, and Nick was confident he could beat the daylights out of him when he had the chance.

Even shoot him. Nick wouldn't hesitate.

“You won't mind if I freshen up a bit? Let's go.” Daniel pointed the gun toward the end of the hall where the small water closet was. His arm didn't leave Eliza's waist.

“I don't think we'll all fit, Daniel.”

“Ah, we can just pretend we're playing Sardines. I can't leave you behind, Nicky. Then you
would
go for that walking stick, and I'd lose my advantage. I imagine if Miss Lawrence is such a man-hater, she's never seen a male member. This is your lucky day, my dear.”

Eliza rolled her eyes, but Daniel didn't notice. By the gods, Nick loved her. She was brave and beautiful and so very precious to him.

“You first, Nicky.”

Nick walked past the dining room and morning room. Dim light came through the stained glass of the door to the back garden, and for a second Nick thought he saw a shadow flit by. The damned reporters! But maybe if he shouted—

Daniel would hurt Eliza.

Probably a bird anyway. But it was a chance to do something. Anything. “I think someone's outside.”

“Rubbish. No tricks, Nick.”

“Just let me check. I swear I won't try to run away.” He got as far as the door when he heard Eliza's muffled scream. With every bit of his will, he ignored the struggle behind him long enough to turn the lock on the door and open it a crack.

He pivoted. Eliza's arm was bent behind her, but she looked more furious than injured. “All right, all right. But you know there have been newspaper people in the back garden. You wouldn't want them to know what you're up to, would you?”

“You're the one who has the most to lose.
Another
scandal? Little Domenica's name all over the rags? I think you'll pay me to keep quiet.”

Daniel pushed Eliza forward and peered over Nick's shoulder. “Nicky, you insult my intelligence. Close and lock the door back up, there's a good fellow. We wouldn't want to be disturbed.”

Fuck. He'd been clumsy and obvious, and now Daniel would be even more suspicious of his every move.

“The lock, Nick. I haven't heard it yet.”

Reluctantly, Nick flipped the brass knob. It wouldn't have been very likely that a reporter would try to enter the house anyway—apart from the first day, they hadn't even rung the doorbell.

Had Eliza locked the front door when she'd let Daniel in? Nick hoped not. Maybe someone would stop by—that doctor, for example—and walk in.

Clutching at straws, he was. But it was all he had at the moment.

The bathroom, not much larger than the phone box outside the Staple Inn, contained a pedestal sink, a tiny stall shower, and a commode. “You two step inside the shower. Not a sound. Mind the gun—I believe I can do two things at once, and my finger is itchy. I'd guess Miss Lawrence will shut her eyes, but you've seen it all before, haven't you, Nicky? Time and time again.”

What Nick saw was years wasted. What he felt was shame. There were no explanations he could ever give to Eliza that would not shock her.

He was doomed, no matter what happened.