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Compromising Miss Milton
Michelle Styles


Marrying the Governess!Buttoned-up governess Daisy Milton buries dreams of marriage and family life in order to support her sister and orphaned niece. But maddeningly attractive Adam, Viscount Ravensworth, is one distraction that shakes Daisy’s safe, stable existence. Now ghosts from Adam’s past in India threaten Daisy’s future.Just what will it take to convince a tightly laced miss to forgo society’s strict code of conduct…and come undone in the arms of a reformed rake?







‘The doctor informs me that I will need a nurse for a few months while I recuperate. I can think of no one better,’ Lord Ravensworth said, and his voice became like heavy silk sliding over her skin.

‘You know of my faults, and your conversation is more amusing than most. Should you wish the position, it is yours. I will pay half as much again as your present employer.’

‘Lord Ravensworth!’ Daisy stared at him in astonishment. If she went to work for him, she might as well forget about ever being a governess in England again. She could well imagine how the interviews would go if he gave her a reference. The slight tutting, and then the news that the post had been filled. ‘You are unmarried!’

‘Double what Mrs Blandish is paying you. You drive a hard bargain.’

His eyes were molten gold with flecks of amber—eyes that Daisy knew she’d dream about for months to come—eyes which silently urged her to say yes.

‘It should be more than sufficient to make you swallow your principles about being employed by an unmarried man.’

‘Without my principles I am nothing. I am a governess, not a nurse. Therefore I must refuse, Lord Ravensworth, and urge you to seek a suitable person for your needs.’




Author Note


This book came about because of the gleam in my senior editor’s eye when I mentioned governesses, and the image of a half-naked man lying in Irthing River which haunted my brain for several nights running. And, as I had recently finished reading Alex Von Tunzelmann’s Indian Summer, as well as Kipling Sahib by Charles Allen, I knew the story had to have an Indian connection. India remains high on places I want to visit. And some day I will.

I found The Victorian Governess by Kathryn Hughes and Other People’s Daughters—The Lives and Times of the Governess by Ruth Brandon really useful for background information about governesses—plus their front covers are endlessly inspiring.

Because Daisy’s friend Louisa Sibson came up and tapped on my shoulder, demanding her story be told, and thankfully my editor agreed, her story will be appearing soon.

As ever, I love getting reader feedback—either via post to Mills & Boon, on my website, www.michellestyles.co.uk, or my blog, http://www.michellestyles.blogspot.com

All the best.




Compromising Miss Milton

Michelle Styles







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Born and raised near San Francisco, California, Michelle Styles currently lives a few miles south of Hadrian’s Wall, with her husband, three children, two dogs, cats, assorted ducks, hens and beehives. An avid reader, she became hooked on historical romance when she discovered Georgette Heyer, Anya Seton and Victoria Holt one rainy lunchtime at school. And, for her, a historical romance still represents the perfect way to escape. Although Michelle loves reading about history, she also enjoys a more hands-on approach to her research. She has experimented with a variety of old recipes and cookery methods (some more successfully than others), climbed down Roman sewers, and fallen off horses in Iceland—all in the name of discovering more about how people went about their daily lives. When she is not writing, reading or doing research, Michelle tends her rather overgrown garden or does needlework—in particular counted cross-stitch.

Michelle maintains a website, www.michellestyles.co.uk (http://www.michellestyles.co.uk), and a blog, www.michellestyles.blogspot.com (http://www.michellestyles.blogspot.com), and would be delighted to hear from you.


Recent novels by the same author:

THE GLADIATOR’ S HONOUR

A NOBLE CAPTIVE

SOLD AND SEDUCED

THE ROMAN’ S VIRGIN MISTRESS

TAKEN BY THE VIKING

A CHRISTMAS WEDDING WAGER

(part of Christmas By Candlelight)

VIKING WARRIOR, UNWILLING WIFE

AN IMPULSIVE DEBUTANTE

A QUESTION OF IMPROPRIETY

IMPOVERISHED MISS, CONVENIENT WIFE


To Pauline Tomlinson;

because everyone needs a Pauline in their life!




Contents


Chapter One (#ua21b95b5-1dc8-571e-98b0-70b013023e23)

Chapter Two (#ue0b3e0a6-8de1-52e1-899e-7b10526cf899)

Chapter Three (#ufd2aea14-a1d8-5215-9213-dc2f8a84ee06)

Chapter Four (#u8f43eaf2-b786-5b42-af73-f87ed5eef309)

Chapter Five (#u9e05ac32-e6ea-5c91-a8e3-075bcdfc6cae)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One


July 1837—Gilsland, Cumberland

The carriage’s abrupt stop jolted Adam Ravensworth, the third Viscount Ravensworth, from a fitful sleep, and sent his cane clattering to the floor of the carriage. Adam gripped the horsehair seat with his long fingers, narrowly preventing his body from tumbling after it.

‘In the name of all that is holy, what sort of driving is that? You are paid to avoid potholes, not drive through them!’ Adam banged on the roof.

Silence filled the unmoving carriage, only to be broken by the tramp of heavy feet and muffled voices. Adam froze, listening. Not poor driving but something far more sinister.

With a practised hand, he reached towards where his pistol was stored and encountered—air. A loud oath dropped from his lips.

Adam forced the remains of sleep from his mind. The pistol was there. It had to be. He had carefully placed it alongside the necklace before they had left the coaching inn this morning, an integral part of his ritual. His hand groped for the ruby necklace. His shoulders relaxed slightly. That at least was there.

Adam reached out again, fumbling in the dark with the latch of a hidden compartment, but despite his frantic groping the space and indeed the carriage remained empty of all weapons. Gone. Vanished.

What else had they done? And when? The fog of sleep clawed at his mind, making it difficult to think. Adam shook his head, noting the vile taste in his mouth. Drugged. He swore at his own stupidity. Meticulous planning had gone into this unscheduled stop, but this was where it would end. It would not reach the desired conclusion. He would see to it. Personally.

‘Down from the carriage!’

‘Here, what is this all about?’ His new driver Hawkins’s protest was a heartbeat too slow, too certain.

‘We mean business. Stand aside.’

A single shot rang out.

Adam grabbed the ruby necklace and slipped it into the waistband of his trousers. Everything else was replaceable, but not the necklace—his talisman, a reminder of who he was and what he had done. If he lost the necklace, he might as well be dead.

‘Step out, my lord,’ Hawkins said.

Adam’s neck muscles relaxed slightly. Hawkins lived. But how loyal was he? His words held the barest veneer of civility.

Rapidly Adam searched on the floor for the pistol, hoping that in some mad moment of sleep, he had dislodged the weapon. Nothing. His hand closed about his cane, a weapon of sorts, something to even the odds.

‘Get out, I say!’ The door rattled again and Hawkins’s voice became harsher. ‘Get out or I will drag your lordship’s carcass from the coach.’

‘When I am ready.’

Adam tugged at the sleeves of his frock coat and straightened his stock. He tucked his cane under his arm and knew he looked the perfect gentleman, perhaps a bit foppish and overly concerned with clothes, but not someone who waited for an opportunity to strike.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped out into the night and surveyed the scene, weighing his options. Seven men, far too many to fight and have a hope of success. Whoever had planned this had left nothing to chance, but someone always made a mistake.

The leader snapped his fingers and Hawkins plucked the cane from Adam’s hand. ‘Sorry, my lord. The cane is required. We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.’

‘Is there some problem, Hawkins?’ Adam kept his voice calm and unhurried, the epitome of an aristocrat who frequented the environs of St James’s. ‘Why have you stopped the coach? I need to get to Newcastle to catch the packet to London. The Atheneaum’s annual election waits for no man.’

‘Outlaws. Road was blocked ahead and I slowed. These men grabbed the horses’ heads.’ Hawkins shifted from foot to foot as the lantern cast strange elongated shadows. The cane with its hidden sword was now clasped lightly in Hawkins’s unsuspecting hand. ‘It weren’t my fault. Not expecting it, like. There was nothing I could do. Honest my lord.’

‘Join me, Hawkins.’ Adam held out his hand, and willed the driver to place the cane into his palm. ‘It is not too late. I will save you, Hawkins.’

Hawkins took a step backwards, shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry my lord. They…they threatened…my wife and child.’

‘Indeed? And here I thought you a single man without a relation in the world.’ Adam lowered his voice. ‘How much did they pay you, Hawkins? How did they get you—drink, gaming or was it opium? Did you think about your wife or child, then?’

Hawkins raised the cane, but Adam caught it before the first blow fell and pulled Hawkins towards him.

‘Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been enough.’ Adam saw the man’s face contort with uncertainty and fear.

‘Leave Lord Ravensworth to me. I have waited a lifetime for this moment.’ The leader’s muffled voice rang out again. ‘Back to your place. And this time take his cane out of his reach.’

The driver yanked the cane away and turned on his heel.

Another wave of drug-induced tiredness attacked Adam. He fought against it, struggling to stay upright. Survival first. Retribution later.

‘You have something we want. Something you stole.’ The leader’s voice was rough, but held a tone that Adam’s brain faintly recognised. ‘A treasure beyond reckoning. Give it here.’

He lifted his hand and Adam saw the tattoo of a blackbird between the man’s thumb and forefinger. The ground shifted beneath Adam’s feet. He knew the tattoo. Once it had had a meaning, but that was more than a continent and half-a-dozen years away. The gang of particularly murderous thieves who sported the tattoo and who preyed on innocent travellers were dead. The last ones had danced from the end of a noose after he had testified in Bombay.

‘You are making a serious error,’ Adam said. ‘I have no idea what you mean.’

‘Wrong answer.’ A blow struck the side of his head, sending him staggering towards the dark edges of his mind. ‘A rich nabob like you. You brought the treasure from India. You thought yourself beyond the curse. It has taken us a long time, but the goddess will be satisfied once we have tasted your blood.’

Adam put his hands on his knees and attempted to breathe. Ghosts did not possess cudgels and curses were for the weak-minded. These men were flesh and blood, but who? And why now? When had the tattoo been revived?

Another blow rained down on his back and shoulders—heavier, harder. He stumbled and fell, lay still, then waited. A tiny portion of his mind told him to offer up a prayer for help, but any higher being that existed had forsaken him after India. He knew that.

‘Here, you’ll kill him. They never said nothing about killing. That’s murder, like!’ Hawkins squawked.

‘It’s a dirty business. You knew that.’

‘It is not here,’ a voice called out

‘Search the carriage again!’

‘What about him?’

‘Him?’ A contemptuous kick landed on Adam’s back. ‘He will be dead before sunlight. Did you see him stagger as he came out? They did their work at the inn.’

‘You will get what you deserve,’ Adam muttered under his breath, but he kept his body still and his face in the mud, waiting.

‘I’ll check his person.’

‘It won’t be there. It will be in the coach. He didn’t have time, like,’ Hawkins protested. ‘He always takes the necklace when he travels. He has a special compartment for it, see. He didn’t have the time or the wit to get it.’

‘Just the same.’ Hands tore at his coat, ripping it from his back.

‘That was a mistake. My tailor hasn’t even sent the bill yet,’ Adam said as he flipped over and brought his boots up into his attacker’s chest and kicked hard.

The man flew backwards, colliding with another.

Adam crouched for a heartbeat and then began to run. Behind him, he heard the screech of the men calling their dogs. But Adam did not stop until he reached a small cliff, lit silver in the moonlight. He checked his step as a stone bounced down and hit the river.

The dogs howled again, closer. Two shots rang out.

Adam kicked off his boots, grabbed them with one hand and jumped, allowing the current to take him.

* * *

‘Miss Milton! Miss Milton. You must come. A man is lying by the river. Without any clothes on! Undressed—that is to say, naked!’

Daisy Milton glanced up from her sister Felicity’s latest letter about their niece and the unwelcome return of her illness. She was alarmed at her young charge’s words. A naked man? Here in this peaceful spot? Nella Blandish was supposed to be gathering flowers for a botany project, not spying. She had been given the strictest orders. But Nella had returned with her hat ribbon askew, pinafore stained, no flowers and another outlandish tale.

There were times when a governess was forced to make a judgement. Her sister’s problems would have to wait.

‘Truly, Miss Milton, there is a naked man! I saw him with my very own eyes.’

Daisy folded the letter and placed it in the wicker basket, each movement precise and unhurried. ‘Is this another of your fables, Prunella Blandish? This one does bear some semblance to last week’s tale about the lion eating buttercups.’

‘It is the truth…this time, Miss Milton. Honest, there is a naked man. You could see everything—all the way to kingdom come.’ Nella’s bottom lip stuck out and she shook her golden curls. ‘I watched him and watched him and he has not moved. He lies there, feet dangling in the water, head resting on a log.’

‘And what was this naked man of yours doing before he started lying there? Swimming?’ Daisy strove to keep her voice calm. She refused to enquire about what this everything-to-kingdom-come that Nella had seen was. If Nella’s tale was true, and if they did encounter this man on the way back to the house, she would explain in a quiet but firm voice about common decency and the necessity of wearing something when bathing.

Nella’s reactions were only natural, the result of being a lively twelve year old. But what would Mrs Blandish say once Nella related the tale? And Nella’s sister? A tiny pain appeared behind Daisy’s eyes. She needed this position and its wage.

No one ever set out to be a governess, least of all her. But Felicity had to look after their niece, and the annuity from her father was barely enough for one to manage on, let alone three. There was little to be done about falling sickness, but she completely agreed with Felicity that Kammie must be kept at home. It was Felicity, not she, who bore the hardest burden. Daisy’s sole contribution was to provide what funds she could.

‘How should I know, Miss Milton, what the man was doing before I saw him?’ Nella adopted her butter-wouldn’t-melt face. ‘You always tell me to refrain from speculating.’

‘It is a lovely afternoon in July.’ Daisy kept her voice light and tried to regain some of her authority. ‘I do hope you came away without saying anything. It would have been the height of bad manners, Prunella, to interrupt a man’s bathing.’

‘He wasn’t bathing. He was lying there in his altogether…’ Nella’s brow wrinkled and she clasped her hands under her chin, the very picture of injured innocence. ‘That is the very honest truth, Miss Milton.’

Daisy frowned, tapping her fingers against the basket.

How many times had she heard those words—‘the very honest truth’—over the past few months, only to discover that Nella had managed to exaggerate or somehow twist the story until it bore little resemblance to the actual sequence of events? This tale would stop here.

‘You solemnly promised your dearest mama no more tales or untruths.’

‘I know what I saw, Miss Milton…’ Nella pushed her bonnet more firmly on to her head. ‘I’ll prove it. Don’t you want to see the man? Judge for yourself?’

To see the man? Daisy set her bonnet more firmly on her head and smoothed the pleats of her black stuff gown. Nella made it seem as if she was some sort of sex-starved spinster who had nothing better to do than spy on men bathing. She had a healthy appreciation of the masculine form, but the consequences had to be considered. Someone had to contain Nella’s enthusiasm.

‘It is not a question of want, Prunella, but of decorum.’

‘It would be the Christian thing to do.’ Nella’s being positively glowed as the idea took hold in her brain. ‘To see if he was in trouble and needed our aid. He could have gone over the waterfall, or have been attacked by brigands…or…’

‘I do know my Christian duty, thank you, Prunella. And I endeavour to do it. Always. As you should.’

Daisy checked the little watch pinned to her gown. Nearly half past three. Did they have time to investigate? She could then deliver the ‘Importance of Always Telling the Truth’ lecture for the seventh time in as many days when Nella’s falsehood was revealed.

‘It is time we returned to the house. Your dear mama and sister will wish to know where you are. There may be arrivals to greet. Gilsland Spa is quite the rage this year as London remains in solemn mourning for our late lamented king.’

‘Susan isn’t interested in new arrivals. Susan’s sights are fixed on Lord Edward because he is the younger grandson of an earl and she wants a title.’ Nella paused and wrinkled her nose. ‘But Mama says that if anyone more eligible comes along, Susan had best be prepared to change her mind. Papa is worried about Lord Edward being to let in the pocket. Susan agreed eventually. A carriage is worth more than a handsome face.’

‘Nella!’ Daisy stared hard at her charge. ‘Your sister cannot be that mercenary.’

‘Susan told Mama the very same thing this morning.’ Nella swayed on her toes. A broad smile crossed her face as she lowered her voice. ‘I listen at doors.’

‘Then your sister is to get her London Season after all.’

‘Susan is quite convinced, though, that Lord Edward can be brought up to snuff and has begged Mama to keep the house for another month. It will save the expense of a London Season next year and the water will soothe dearest Mama’s nerves.’

Nella’s voice replicated the exact intonation of Miss Blandish’s overly refined tone. With difficulty Daisy forced the laugh back down her throat.

‘You should not listen in on private conversations. It is neither clever nor useful.’ Daisy practised her best governess stare. ‘And you should certainly never repeat them to anyone.’

‘How can I learn anything interesting otherwise? Nobody tells me anything.’

‘It is far from ladylike. Your mama wants you to become a lady. You will want to make a good match, just as your sister does.’

‘Who wants to get married? Marriage is all practicality and good breeding. I want to be a lady explorer.’ Nella waved her hand with airy disdain. ‘I am going to discover lost continents and find buried treasure. And I have not been anywhere yet—even Susan has been to France.’

‘Even lady explorers are ladies first. And explorers pay attention to their geography lessons.’ Daisy winced slightly at her prim words, so reminiscent of her own governess’s—glittering dreams were well and good, but they often vanished in the cold light of reality. Once she had dreamed of exploring the world. Now she settled for independence.

Nella tilted her head to one side as her eyes shone with mischief. ‘Do you think Susan would be interested in seeing my naked gentleman?’

‘Prunella! Control your mouth and your thoughts! A lady acts with propriety and honesty at all times. The man in question does not belong to you. And you have no idea of his antecedents and so cannot make a judgement about his status.’

Nella screwed up her nose. ‘But do you think Susan would be interested in my discovery?’

‘I doubt it.’ Daisy struggled to keep her voice withering. She could well imagine Susan Blandish’s face squeezed up as though she had tasted a particularly sour plum if Nella mentioned the word naked. ‘Knowing things and informing other people of them are two different things. Discretion and tact should be your bywords, even when you are a lady explorer.’

‘I am glad I have you, Miss Milton.’ Nella reached out a grubby hand and squeezed Daisy’s pristine glove. ‘You never worry about such things as fashion and how to catch a viscount. You understand about exploring and never wanting to get married.’ Nella batted her lashes. ‘I wouldn’t have interrupted you for any other reason. I know how much you enjoy your letters from your sister. It is just that I feel one must try to help and do one’s Christian duty. Mama gave me a lecture on the very subject yesterday after I objected to meeting Mrs Gough, the vicar’s wife, who smells distinctly of lemon barley water.’

Daisy permitted a tiny smile to cross her face as she recognised Nella’s tone. Perhaps after all she would reach some sort of rapprochement with her pupil. The whole episode would provide fodder for several letters to her friend Louisa Sibson. ‘Where is this sight that you wish me to see?’

* * *

Daisy climbed the short ridge and looked down on the winding river. The sound of Crammel Linn waterfall crashed in her ears. In the sky a hawk circled. All was at peace. Nothing could possibly be wrong here.

She shaded her eyes and then she saw him, the body, lying in a pool of water just before the waterfall. His body was half in and half out of the water, caught on a log.

Once when she had been about ten, she had travelled to Italy with her mother and sister to improve her Italian. In Sorrento, she had spied a statue like this man. Not young or a hardened warrior, but an athlete, poised to throw a javelin. The perfection of masculinity personified, her governess had declared, with a clasp of her gloved hands before sweeping Daisy onwards towards more suitable views. She had not quite understood the meaning of the remark until now.

‘You see. I spoke the very honest truth,’ Nella called out in a sing-song voice. ‘A naked man by the river.’

‘Except he is far from naked. He wears a shirt and trousers.’

Nella put her hands on her hips. ‘Mama always says that a man might as well be naked if he is not wearing a stock or a coat, and this one isn’t. He does not have boots either. Or a waistcoat.’

‘He is still wearing clothing, Prunella.’ Daisy rolled her eyes heavenwards and struggled to keep her face stern.

‘I preferred it when he was naked.’ Nella rocked back on her heels. ‘It made it seem all the more exciting. It is very easy to imagine that he had no clothes on and I could see everything. See how his shirt moulds to his back. He has a very pleasant back.’

Daisy swallowed hard, remembering the statues in Italy with their unclad shoulders and tapering waists.

‘The man is clearly in need of assistance. Excitement does not come into it,’ Daisy said firmly. A governess was never ruffled. Or surprised even when confronted with such a sight. A governess was prepared for everything.

She put her hand to the side of her face and tried to think straight.

Help—she needed help and fast. Strong backs and arms to carry the man from the river.

She picked up her skirts and prepared to run, but halted before she had gone two steps. Was it her imagination or was the log rocking against the stones, preparing to carry its cargo down the waterfall?

Her mouth went dry. By the time she returned with help, the man would have been washed downstream, and any hope of survival gone. He needed to be lifted clear of the river immediately.

‘Do you think he is dead? He has not moved.’ A thoughtful expression came into Nella’s eyes. ‘I have never seen a dead person before, not even when Grandpapa died and they laid him out in the best parlour. I was considered too young.’

‘I have no idea.’ Daisy watched the man for another breath. The faint breeze ruffled his hair, but she could not discern the rhythmic lifting of his chest. On one of his hands the dull gleam of metal showed. What had happened to him? A swimming accident? Had he misjudged the swift current? Surely no robber or thief would have left a ring. ‘It is impossible to say from here. But there does not appear to be any blood. A closer look is needed. Remember, Nella, hard facts and not guesswork. Ladies do not make assumptions.’

Daisy shifted the basket so it was tighter against her hip and the blanket secure. A narrow bramble-strewn path wound its way down to the river and if she was careful she would be able to reach the man…the corpse without too much difficulty.

‘Shall I come with you? Or am I needed elsewhere?’ Nella asked, pulling her bonnet towards her nose. ‘I mean, I think I would rather go back to the house. Mama may have need of me.’

‘What a clever idea, Nella.’ Daisy forced her voice to be brisk. Propriety demanded that Nella be kept away. ‘It would be best if you stopped at Shaw’s Hotel. Tell the innkeeper about the man and ask him to send some assistance. You can do that, can’t you, Nella? You can find your way?’

Nella stood straighter and positively glowed. ‘I know the way. I am twelve and not a baby of ten, after all. We came here last year for Mama’s nerves. Mademoiselle Le Claire often had a poorly head and so I wandered about on my own. The innkeeper and I became great friends.’

Daisy clamped her lips shut. She knew all about Mademoiselle Le Claire and her habits. The woman had returned to France and Nella had been through three other governesses since, each with their own particular quirk. ‘Nella, you should walk quickly and not run. A lady always proceeds at a dignified pace—even lady explorers.’

A mutinous expression passed over Nella’s face, but she obviously thought better of it. ‘Of course, Miss Milton.’

‘That’s a good girl. Remember to tell the innkeeper without delay or embellishment.’

‘I will, Miss Milton,’ Nella sang out, lifting her hand in farewell.

Daisy pushed the slight sense of trepidation from her mind. Nella would enjoy the attention of being the heroine of the hour. Nella set off walking at a quick pace, but before she had gone thirty paces, the girl began to run. Daisy shook her head and turned her attention to the injured man. It was definitely not her imagination. The log had started to move towards the waterfall.

Daisy put her boot down on a loose rock, half-slid and half-ran two more feet. A distinct ripping sound resounded as the black stuff fabric in her skirt gave way. Daisy winced. Another bit of mending to do. And she hated to think about the state of her gloves. Felicity and Kammie had given them to her for her last birthday. Kammie had carefully stitched the daisies about the cuff. She wouldn’t have worn them, but, after last week’s thorn-bush incident, the pairs of serviceable gloves she owned were distinctly limited.

As she reached the riverbank, there was a huge creak and the log pulled free of the anchoring rock. With hesitating, Daisy plunged in, grabbed the man’s arm and tugged. His body refused to move as the current began to pull the log ever closer to the waterfall. Daisy watched as two black objects broke free, swirled once and then went over the waterfall to their doom.

Daisy closed her eyes, readjusted her hold on him and pulled with all her strength. At first the log seemed to be trying to carry her with it as well. She went further into the river, and planted her feet more firmly. Suddenly his body moved with her, coming up against her. Immediately Daisy redoubled her efforts and forced her mind not to think about the impropriety of having his chest so close to hers. She stumbled backwards, and his heavy body landed on top of her. Her hands pushed him, rolling him off her. He gave a faint groan.

She turned her head in time to see the log crash over the waterfall, splintering as it hit the rocks. A violent shiver racked her as she thought how narrowly he had escaped.

He gave a violent cough, bringing up water. Daisy rapped him sharply on the back until his breath appeared to come easier.

His linen shirt was translucent and moulded to his back. He wore a pair of fawn-coloured trousers and so gave the illusion of being naked. He lay on his stomach, head turned away from her. His black hair curled slightly at his neck. His chest rose and fell slightly. Alive. A soft noise arose, a cross between a snore and a snort, and he mumbled something incoherent about clubs and railways—the same sort of noise that her father had made in his wingback armchair after several glasses of port.

A deep rage filled her. She had risked life, limb and reputation to save this man and he was drunk. More than likely uninjured. She should have let him drown.

She coughed softly, but when he did not move, she tried again, reaching forwards to prod him with her basket as water dripped from her gown.

At the sound of her squelching boots, his lashes fluttered and his amber gaze pierced her. His eyes were a myriad of shifting browns and golds and his lashes provided the perfect frame.

The sound of laughter filled the air—his laughter, low and husky as if they were sharing some private joke.

‘Are you hurt? Or merely drunk?’ she asked through gritted teeth. ‘I have spoilt my best gloves and soaked my gown in the rescue attempt. The least you can do is answer civilly instead of laughing at the spectacle.’

The man groaned and buried his face in his arms. ‘Do you have to speak so loudly? You would wake the dead, ma’am, with your tones.’

‘Not the dead, just you.’ Daisy raised her eyes heavenwards. English, and with the arrogant tones of someone well bred. That was all she needed—a rake who had made a drunken wager to swim the Irthing. All she asked for was a bit of common decency, but when had a rake ever possessed such a thing? ‘Do you know how you came to be here?’

‘Not by choice. Wrong sort of clothes to swim in for a start. Always swim in my birthday suit.’ A great cough racked his body. ‘Swallowed most of the river as well. Definitely not my preferred tipple. It lacks a certain something, don’t you agree?’

Daisy wrung out the hem of her skirt. Definitely a rake and one of the worst sort. Her only hope was that he would begin to make a certain amount of sense and she could leave him. ‘Have you any idea why you are here?’

‘Carriage halted. I escaped and the dogs followed. So I went into the river.’ His frown increased and his hand fumbled about the rocks as if he were searching for something. ‘My boots! What have you done with my boots?’

‘I have not touched your boots. A pair may have gone over the falls, but forgive me as I was otherwise occupied with saving you.’

The man swore, loud and long. Daisy made a tutting noise at the back of her throat, so that he would understand that curses were always unnecessary in the hearing of a lady. She then made a great show of picking up her basket.

‘Someone stole those boots.’

‘You still have your signet ring.’ Daisy pointed at the dull gold band he wore on his little finger. Did he take her for some green girl? Easily conned by a smile and a pair of fine eyes? As if she would take a pair of boots. He was probably the sort that could not take his boots off without a valet. More than likely the boots were with his friends.

A frown appeared between his two dark eyebrows. His fingers curled about his ring. ‘Not that. Curious.’

‘Why did they do that? Why not take it if they were thieves?’ Daisy shifted the basket to her other hip and watched him through narrow slits.

‘You would have to ask my attackers. I was too busy trying to stay alive.’ The man’s sardonic voice echoed in her ears. His long fingers explored the back of his head. ‘And while you are at it, you can ask them why they left me with a lump the size of a goose egg on the side of my head. The violence was unnecessary.’

‘If that is the case, then perhaps I had best go and find them immediately. You are obviously in no need of assistance from me.’ Daisy opted for her most withering tone.

‘Why did this attack happen?’ His hand shot out and encircled her wrist. ‘The truth this time, phantom of my mind, or I shall be forced to destroy you.’




Chapter Two


Adam fastened his gaze on the slender wrist and the embroidered glove of the woman. Until his fingers closed around her, he had been nearly convinced she was another apparition, part of the never-ending parade of ghosts and phantoms that had plagued him ever since he had found a log to cling to, to keep his head above water. Always mocking him and then vanishing, always keeping that elusive answer of why the attack had happened beyond his reach.

He glanced upwards, following the line of the shiny black sleeve to the white collar fastened at her neck with a blue cameo and finally coming to rest on her glorious eyes. For a brief heartbeat, her features blurred and merged with the shadows, becoming the countenance of one of the dead. He blinked and the image vanished.

He swallowed, tasting once again the foul residue in his mouth. It had been at the last inn where his driver had insisted they change horses. Newcastle by mid-morning, Hawkins had said with a laugh, pressing a pint of foul ale on him. Had Hawkins survived? Or had the thieves saved Adam a job and slit his throat?

He pushed the thought from his mind. Later there would be the time for vengeance and retribution. Now, he had to survive. To get away from here. Alive.

His captive moved her hand upwards and silently tried to break free.

Adam regarded her with a jaundiced eye. The fates were definitely laughing at him. He had asked for help as he had struggled against the current, and this is what had appeared—a governess, someone who was more concerned about propriety and giving lip service than actually aiding anyone. Or, worse yet, a parody of a governess intent on harm. She had been about to search him for valuables. He was certain of it. The woman was no angel of mercy, but a black-hearted harpy.

‘Who sent you here?’ he asked, grinding out the words. ‘You might as well confess. I will find out in the end.’

‘Let go of my wrist,’ the woman said, her hideous straw bonnet slipping to one side and her golden-brown hair tumbling free.

Her tones were clear and precise like a bell, echoing in his mind, reminding him of someone, someone he should know. Adam willed his mind to clear. He had never seen this woman before. Ever. He would have remembered the eyes and the heart-shaped face.

‘Let. Me. Go. Now. Before I scream very loudly indeed.’

Adam concentrated on tightening his grip. It would come to him in a moment, the connection. He drew in a breath and his body protested once again at the pain of moving. He had thought lying in the river that he might have been in India again, lying in a pool of blood, waiting for the final blow, when he had been unable to get to Kamala, but had desperately wanted to. When he still thought Kamala might have feelings for him and he could redeem his earlier failure.

He was supposed to die then but didn’t. If he could cheat death once, he could do it again. But he had to know if this woman was friend or foe.

‘I am warning you.’ The woman tapped her foot and her eyes shot sparks. ‘Cease this nonsense immediately.’

‘I doubt anyone will hear you, save the odd sheep. Possibly a hawk.’ He permitted a smile to cross his lips and promptly regretted the pain. ‘Unless you have friends nearby.’

‘Friends?’ Her voice went up an octave and her being quivered. ‘Do you think I would have dragged you from the river if I could have sent a man? I saved your life—an act of mercy and one I will regret to my dying day.’

Adam levered his body to a sitting position and concentrated on the frivolous daisies embroidered on his captive’s gloves. Would a governess really wear such gloves in contrast to her severe costume? Not any that he encountered. But then the ones he remembered had too-big teeth or casts in their eyes. And their figures were not like this woman’s.

Suddenly he wanted done with it, to face his enemy instead of having him lurk in the shadows. He nodded towards the river and empty riverbank on the other side.

‘Go head, scream. Or else keep silent.’ Adam glared at her. ‘My head aches enough as is. I have no desire to hurt you. I only require a few answers—Answers you will give me sooner or later.’

She caught her bottom lip with neat white teeth, worrying it, but no sound emerged from her throat.

‘Thank you for confirming my view that you have no intention of screaming,’ Adam continued. ‘It always pleases me when I read women correctly.’

Her lips curved upwards, transforming her face, making it seem far too lively. ‘You harbour odd beliefs.’

‘It is never good to make threats that you do not intend to follow through. If you were going to scream, you would have screamed immediately and without warning. Perhaps you are hoping for a kiss.’

‘Do you always follow through on your threats?’ Her voice held the faintest tremor.

‘On my threats and my promises.’ Adam dropped his voice to seductive purr. There was more than one way to get an answer from a woman. ‘The kiss is a promise.’

Her cheeks flushed. ‘I have no desire…’

‘Ah, you wish to test my theory.’ Adam smiled. This supposed governess was behaving exactly like other women. It was disappointing in a way. He had hoped for more.

‘Please,’ she whispered.

Adam touched her shoulder and felt the black stuff give way under his touch and the warmth rise up from her. Her large grey-green eyes met his. A sense of satisfaction went through him.

Her next move would be a few false pleas combined with batted lashes and a single tear down her face to elicit pity and to appeal to his better nature. But that nature had vanished seven years ago in India. He would discover which of his enemies had sent her. And then they would pay. Slowly.

‘Shall we begin?’ he asked. ‘And I want the truth.’

She leant forwards, so that her mouth was inches from his. Her eyes danced with a sudden light. ‘Yes, let’s.’

Her piercing shriek rose and echoed back from the rocks above the waterfall, paining his ears.

He raised an eyebrow and glared up at her, concentrating on the few escaping tendrils of dark brown hair rather than the superior expression. ‘Did the scream make you feel better?’

‘Only if it hurt your ears. Like you, I keep my promises. I have been a governess for long enough to know how to handle awkward children.’

‘I am not a child. I am a grown man.’ The instant the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. He sounded like he was not yet in long trousers. He concentrated on keeping hold of her wrist.

‘Behave like one and let me go.’ Her eyes flashed, transforming her face and making him want to stare. There was something so alive about the woman. ‘Shall we repeat the exercise or do you release me?’

Most women of his acquaintance would have fainted by now, or at the very least declared their intent to faint, but not this woman. She appeared positively triumphant in her scream.

He cocked his head slightly, his body stilling. Adam’s fingers itched to shake her shoulders until she revealed everything, but he remained in control of his emotions and waited for her next move and to see what aid came to her rescue.

The woods were silent. No one was coming. Was she innocent? Could he take the chance?

‘Are you always this stubborn? Who knows who you could have alerted?’

Her chin tilted upwards. ‘It is my intention to alert someone. There are laws against this sort of behaviour. Molesting women.’

‘Someone? Someone in particular? Who?’

‘Does it matter?’ Her bonnet ribbons trembled slightly.

‘You can tell me. Who sent you? What secrets am I supposed to tell?’ He pulled her close, so that each one of her eyelashes was highlighted against her pale skin. Up close and unencumbered by the shadow of the bonnet, her face was striking—thin curved eyebrows, a straight nose and full lips that did more than hint at passion. ‘Give me his name. Who is your lover? Where does he hide? What does he want from me? What does he seek?’

‘I am unmarried, sir!’

‘Marriage has never been a requirement for taking a lover.’

‘It is with me.’ Her nostrils quivered with indignation and her cheeks flamed pink. ‘That is to say, I wish for no other lover than my eventual husband.’

‘And does he have a name? This fiancé of yours?’

‘I have no fiancé.’

‘No lover, no fiancé and no prospects. Is it any wonder you are a governess?’

‘I am a virtuous woman, whereas you are naught but a scoundrel and a rake.’

‘A woman of virtue! Truly a rare prize!’

‘My elbows are quite sharp.’ Her voice became shrill. ‘And I will not hesitate to use any means at my disposal to fight you. To the death if necessary. What is a woman when she has lost her virtue?’

‘What is she, indeed?’ Adam lifted his other hand and traced a finger down the rim of her bonnet. An errant curl brushed against it, surprising him with its softness. ‘More interesting? Yes, a woman who has lost her virtue is infinitely more intriguing.’

‘Let me go. I am…am not that sort of woman. Nor will I be—ever.’

‘Rest assured, ma’am, I have no designs on your virtue.’ He allowed his hand to drop. ‘But I will keep the suggestion under advisement.’

The woman’s mouth opened and closed several times. ‘You are impossible.’

‘My nurse proclaimed me a devil at the tender age of two.’ Adam permitted a smile to cross his face. He leant forwards so his head touched the brim. ‘I have made no attempt to improve.’

‘I saved your life, sir! Do not ruin mine! Let me go and I will answer your questions.’

The governess gave one last frantic tug and he let her go. She tumbled backwards and gave him a view of a neatly turned ankle, far neater than the dress suggested. The woman had something to hide. He could feel it in his bones. He would discover her secrets and destroy her if needs be.

‘Are you satisfied? You are free.’ He gathered his legs under him and wondered if they would have any power.

She gave a loud disapproving sniff and scuttled backwards. ‘You did not have to let me go that quickly.’

‘A proper gentleman never refuses a lady’s reasonable request. My dear mama taught me that.’

‘Are you a gentleman?’ She tilted her head and then shook her head in wonderment.

‘I was born one.’

‘Then behave like one.’ Her eyes slid away from his. Almost imperceptibly she began to inch towards her basket, shuffling backwards on her hands. Her fingers reached out towards it and then hesitated as she saw his face. Her white teeth worried her bottom lip and her eyes slid between his face and the basket. Then she gave a small sigh. He realised with a start of surprise that she intended on keeping her promise. A woman of integrity. Most unexpected.

‘I will answer all your questions, but I can shed no light on why you are here,’ she said with quiet firmness.

Adam frowned. He prided himself on being immune to feminine wiles. How many times had he seen the false pleas, the crocodile tears for yet another bauble? But this woman was sincere and willing to keep her promises. ‘You have no idea why I might have been attacked?’

She nodded vigorously, sending her bonnet sliding to one side of her face. ‘I give you my word as a governess and a lady brought low by family circumstance.’

The last words—family circumstance—hung in the air. Adam immediately recalled India. Then, too, Kamala had claimed to be a lady, brought low by family circumstance. She, too, had begged and pleaded with him to save her, but he had refused to act. Then he had taken her proof to his commander and had lost her for ever. Even now he heard Kamala’s voice whispering, begging him to forgive her. He refused to have another death on his conscience. The parade of ghosts was long enough already. He shook his head and willed those particular shades to go.

Adam looked up at the sky. He attempted to regain his balance, his famous cool demeanour. The events seven years ago had nothing to do with today.

What was it that was said about him in the clubs in London? Adam Ravensworth never loses his temper and always maintains control. Hah! Here he was attacking governesses, or whatever she was pretending to be. Had he fallen that far?

‘Why do you feel compelled to wear such ugly clothes? What are you attempting to conceal? Your magnificent figure?’

Two bright spots appeared on her cheeks and her hands went to automatically smooth her skirts and straighten her bonnet, hiding the glorious gold-brown hair that had spilled free. ‘Are you always this rude?’

‘I ask the questions. You answer them. It was our bargain.’

‘Your question is…personal.’ Her hand plucked at her skirts. ‘I am a governess. I wear what I wear because…it is appropriate. Your time is up.’

‘My questions are not finished.’

‘But I am.’ In one swift movement, she picked up her basket and started to stalk off. ‘I have no doubt that you will find your own way back to whatever hole you crawled from.’

His head pained him as he attempted to rise and sank back down again. Adam loudly cursed his weakness. The woman merely lifted an eyebrow and continued walking.

Adam winced. With her went his best hope of getting out of this hellish nightmare alive.

‘Thank you for saving my miserable life,’ he called out. ‘Allow me to show you my gratitude.’

Daisy hesitated. She had planned on running, but the wet black-stuff material made moving swiftly next to impossible.

‘Change, become a pleasant person now that you have been given a second chance,’ Daisy retorted and knew the instant the words left her mouth they were mistaken. She should have ignored his plea.

‘I did not ask for the carriage to be set upon.’ His soft words sent a warm pulse down her spine, holding her there. ‘Nor the beating. I am an innocent man. On my honour as a gentleman, I need your help desperately. Must I be reduced to begging? Forgive my sins and trespasses. At first I was convinced you were an apparition sent to plague me. Then I was certain you belonged to the gang. I suffered from malaria when I was in India.’

An apparition. Tears pricked Daisy’s eyelids. She remembered her brother Tom using the same sort of words when he was home on leave from the East India Company and suffering from a recurrence of the ague. She looked back over her shoulder and saw the man sitting there, bruising beginning to show on his face.

She glanced upwards and saw the hawk was now but a speck in the sky. Had all this happened so quickly?

Could she blame him if he had thought her somehow involved? How would she have behaved if she had been thrown into a river and left for dead? If she had not been sure a person was truly there, or their intent was peaceful?

You are too quick to judge, Daisy my girl. Give people a chance to prove their worth before leaping to conclusions. You might be pleasantly surprised. Her brother’s voice reprimanding her for some long-forgotten misdemeanour echoed in her brain. Her brother would never have left anyone in this condition, and neither could she.

Daisy retied the strings of her bonnet, making sure it was firmly on her head, reminding her of her position in the world. ‘You have not improved with age. You have ended up like your nurse predicted. The very devil.’

‘Hoisted by my own words.’ He shivered as he shook his head in mock despair. ‘There are devils and then there are demons.’

Daisy resisted the impulse to smile. His hair had flopped forwards, making him seem like a little boy. But there was nothing boyish about his mouth or his hooded glance. Here was a man who was aware of the seductive power he could wield over a woman. Daisy forced her shoulders to relax. He would be surprised when she proved immune.

‘I will listen to your story and then decide if you are deserving of my help. But I want facts and not embellishments. When did this start?’

‘There are simply not enough hours in the day to begin to explain, even if I knew where to begin.’ Adam ran a hand through his hair. A vast tiredness swept over him. Where should he begin? In India with Kamala, the necklace and its aftermath? But everyone save him was dead now. There could not be a connection. If he knew the why behind the attack, then he could give the woman some reason. No, it was best to keep things simple. ‘But like any law-abiding person I object to being beaten and robbed.’

Her full lips became a disapproving line. ‘Are you always this irritable? Or did drink contribute to this situation?’

Adam regarded the waterfall with its treacherous rocks. He should have died last night. He could see that now. A few inches to the right or left and the log he had clung to would have gone over. His head would have been dashed opened on the rocks. He closed his eyes, unable to bear the glare of the water any more. Arguing with this woman was the only thing that was keeping him from collapsing in a heap.

‘I don’t generally make a habit of jumping into fast-flowing rivers at night—drunk or sober.’

‘It is good to hear that you can be sensible.’ The woman’s voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘Are you from around here? How far do we have to go before I can bid you adieu?’

‘Where is here?’ Adam gazed at the crashing waterfall and the broad-leaf wood. How far had the coach had travelled and in what direction before they had stopped? He wanted to think the time had been short, but all his brain could summon was confused images. The carriage stopping, the shouts, the rude awakening from confused dreams.

‘You are near Gilsland in Cumberland.’ She put her basket down and shielded her eyes. ‘Shaw’s Hotel is no more than two miles from here.’

Gilsland! Adam raised his eyes heavenwards. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. His attackers had made an error. In Gilsland he was known and could procure the means to go after the gang with relative ease, provided he could discover their lair.

‘The area is not noted for its thieves,’ he said slowly. ‘The border raids stopped over a century ago.’

‘Then you must have enemies.’

Adam considered the question. Who hated him enough to want him dead? He had broken with his mistress before he had left for Scotland, but she had received a good pay off and had gone into the arms of a baronet. The poor fool was welcome to her. His business associates would not dare. There was no one. No reason he could think of. His imaginings about the Indian thuggee—those long-dead murderers who attacked innocent travellers—were hallucinations brought on by the drugged beer. Had to be. But who wanted the necklace enough to bribe his driver? Who would take that sort of risk?

‘None that I felt would take such drastic measures.’ Adam pinched the bridge of his nose and bade the pains in his head to go. ‘It must be this area.’

‘Impossible, despite Sir Walter Scott’s tales to the contrary.’ The governess began to straighten her hideous bonnet as she expounded on her theme of the area being safe and very refined. Adam inched his way over to the basket. He touched the handle and secreted the necklace in between the lining and the wicker basket. Later when they had reached safety, he would retrieve it, but for now, it was best that it resided there, hidden. If she had no connection to the gang, then she would not be in danger. If she did, the thieves would deal with her.

‘A very pretty speech, but I was attacked here and, therefore, discount your theory,’ he said, bringing the recital of Gilsland’s virtue to a close.

The governess gave a loud sniff and straightened her mud-splattered gloves. The ring finger split open. She wrinkled her nose. ‘Bother!’

Adam lowered his voice to a seductive purr. ‘Allow me to get you another pair.’

Her cheeks flamed. ‘I could not possibly accept. It is not done. Ever.’

‘You have decided that I am a ruffian.’ Adam put a hand to his head and winced at the lump. Each breath he took pained his ribs. But he would procure another pair of gloves for the lady and she would accept them. It was the least he could do.

‘I am being practical.’ The governess picked up the basket and primly held it in front of her. ‘Without a formal introduction, I have no knowledge of your antecedents.’

‘It is my fault your gloves have become spoilt; even you will have trouble denying that.’ Adam regarded her with a practised eye. His manoeuvre had been a success. She suspected nothing. ‘Miss…’

‘Milton. Miss Daisy Milton…governess to Miss Prunella Blandish.’ She ignored his outstretched hand.

‘Adam Ravensworth, the third Viscount Ravensworth.’ He inclined his head. Lord knew, right now he needed an ally. He might be near Gilsland, but he was not in the hotel. He could remember the walk to the waterfall from the hotel took nearly the entire morning, not a prospect to be undertaken lightly, even in the best of health.

‘I had not realised that the second viscount—Lord Charles Ravensworth—had died.’

‘My grandfather died two years ago.’

‘Ah, that explains it. I recollect his despairing of his grandsons. Which one are you? The elder one who would not settle or the younger one who went to India?’

Adam started. Of all the responses, he had not expected that one. His grandfather had been well known once, but his gout had made it difficult for him to go out in the final years. Sometimes, he had spoken querulously about everyone but his immediate family considering him long gone from this world. Had he once long ago met this woman? It would explain the strange air of familiarity. He half-smiled—nothing to do with India and everything to do with Warwickshire and home. ‘How did you know my grandfather?’

‘He was a client of my first employer. Years ago. He came to dinner once.’ Miss Milton gave a distinct nod. ‘You have a certain look about your nose and eyes that recalls his features. He, however, was a perfect gentleman.’

‘Why did you sit next to my grandfather?’ Adam ignored the gentleman remark. He never thought he’d have occasion to bless the old man, but right now, he blessed his grandfather’s foresight in attending that dinner party.

‘They needed a spare woman to make up the dinner party and felt I had the necessary qualifications.’

‘Your employer was…’

‘His solicitor.’

‘Which one of Marsden, Flyte and Wainwright?’ Adam held up his hand, stopping her words. ‘Allow me to guess—Flyte has two little girls. He recently remarried after being widowed, but is reckoned to have an eye for the ladies.’

Miss Milton drew in her breath sharply and her cheeks flamed. Adam made a mental note to send Mr Flyte’s wandering eye a case of the best port once he reached civilisation.

‘The late Mrs Flyte gave me a good reference when I felt it necessary to depart, as well as invaluable advice on the proper attire and conduct for a governess.’

‘I take it you did not plan to become a governess.’

She picked at the edge of her glove. ‘My father was a solicitor. After his death, quickly followed by my brother’s, it was apparent that my annuity would not cover everything.’

Adam did not need to see the slight nod. Her story was probably a familiar one. Dead father with little or no family. Forced to become dependent on the good will of others and her spirit crushed. Not completely, he corrected his thoughts, but only allowed in small flashes. How could anyone enjoy such an existence? But it would take a more determined man than he to free her from the shackles of governess servitude.

‘You may consider me safe. I was the one who went to India and returned with a fortune.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘My brother died in a boating accident. The gloves are a promise, Miss Milton, as you spoilt them to save my life. You will admit that we have a connection.’

‘But our slight connection does not permit you to replace my gloves.’ Miss Milton drew back.

‘A pity.’ Adam ignored the pulling on his shoulder. ‘You will have them and you may then throw them in to the fire. But never let it be said that I did not honour a debt.’

‘Indeed.’ Her lips became a thin white line. Adam wondered why he kept glancing at them, and at the outline of her figure. Despite the hideousness of the gown, she could not quite conceal her curves. ‘And what else do you want for these gloves?’

‘I need your help, Miss Milton. I ask for it based on your past friendship with my grandfather.’

‘What sort of help?’ Miss Milton put her hands behind her back and took a step backwards, stumbling over her basket. She picked it up and held it out in front of her like a shield.

‘I want to get away from here, from this river.’

‘You want me to hide you.’ A frown appeared between her eyebrows. ‘You want me to protect you from the law.’

‘No, I want you take me to Shaw’s Hotel in Gilsland.’ Adam bit out the words. Slowly. ‘Your involvement will end there. I will endeavour to see your reputation does not suffer from being alone with me.’

‘You want nothing more from me?’ She tilted her head to one side.

‘Nothing at all.’ Adam ignored the vague pricking of his conscience about the necklace. What she didn’t know could not hurt her. ‘Do we have an agreement, Miss Milton?’




Chapter Three


Daisy trudged along the faint path a few steps in front of the infuriating Lord Ravensworth, silently cursing the fact that her conscience had been pricked. As a young girl she had rescued stray cats, dogs and even on one memorable occasion a ferret. She had thought that she had outgrown the habit, but now she was rescuing this man.

He seemed content to follow behind her, making caustic observations about the amount of brambles and rocks. Impossible man. She had thought he would be grateful. She was taking him the easier way. But having decided to depart, he first had had to stop and wash his mouth out, to get rid of the taste. Then they had had to try the other way before he believed her assessment.

Daisy concentrated on keeping to the faint path and ignored the way her black stuff gown clung to her back. Ladies never sweated or perspired. Heat never bothered them. She would look on this as a test of her fortitude and would endure without a murmur.

Lord Ravensworth’s curse echoed off the rocks and trees.

Daisy stopped, and crossed her arms. And she wished she could say something equally as strong. ‘Losing your boots was not my fault.’

‘Lost boots are the least of my worries.’ He stepped and cursed again, this time louder and stronger and far more forthright. He then executed a perfect bow as his eyes danced with amusement.

Daisy gritted her teeth, lifted her chin and adopted her most governesslike voice, the one she reserved for situations of dire emergency. ‘Pray keep a civil tongue in your mouth when ladies are present.’

‘I can see you have taken the late Mrs Flyte’s words to heart. Governessing is a calling you are eminently suited for, Miss Prim and Proper.’

‘Keeping the niceties of civilisation takes only a modicum of thought and courtesy, something which your character sadly lacks, my lord.’

Lord Ravensworth’s eyes glared at her as he rubbed the bottom of his foot. ‘And, what pray tell, is the correct word for when one steps on a thorn in bare feet?’

‘Stoic forbearance.’

Daisy lifted her chin a notch higher and promptly stumbled over a rock. The hem of her gown tore a bit more and her boot became entangled with a bramble. She pulled slightly, but her foot remained caught. A small oath escaped her lips.

‘Stoic forbearance?’ Lord Ravensworth’s barking laugh rang out.

Daisy glared at him with her best governess expression. He immediately sobered, but his eyes danced. Daisy tried to keep a straight face, but she struggled against a smile. Finally she gave in and laughed.

‘Sometimes, stronger measures are necessary,’ she admitted.

‘Precisely, one does not have to be a governess all the time.’ He bent down and his long fingers closed around her boot, releasing it from the bramble. ‘With a cool head, things become simple.’

Daisy pressed her hand to her eyes, and attempted to ignore the pulse of warmth that had invaded her insides. This man was everything she should despise about aristocrats, but one touch turned her insides to mush. ‘We should be through this bit soon and then there is grass, which will be easier for your feet.’

‘I hope you are right.’

His hand reached out, forming a barrier across her path, preventing her from moving forwards.

‘Is there something wrong? Have you stepped on another rock? Are you going to faint? I can’t carry you, Lord Ravensworth.’ Daisy attempted to keep her voice calm. ‘You will have to walk.’

‘No, I hear voices.’ His tone was the sort that she used with Nella when Nella had failed to do something for the third time—patient and exaggeratedly slow.

‘Voices? What sort of voices?’ Daisy stared at Lord Ravensworth. She had heard nothing, despite her entire being listening. Was he suffering from another delusion? She had heard nothing. No shouting, no calling of her name and promises of help, nothing. She listened again.

Silence except for the faint yap of a dog.

‘Do you often suffer from hallucinations, Lord Ravensworth?’

His tawny eyes glowered at her. ‘All my senses are working, Miss Milton. Listen, instead of filling the air with noise.’

Then, from far away, she heard the shouts. Louder, and not childlike at all and becoming more distinct by the breath. She put her hand to her throat and moved closer to his solidity. ‘Perhaps I was mistaken. Someone is out there. And they are definitely searching for something. They…they are not coming from Gilsland. They are coming from the opposite direction, from above the waterfall.’

His warm hand landed heavily on her shoulder and she gave a small squeak.

‘We must be cautious. They could be the aid you sent for, but there again, they could be my attackers. If we keep moving, we might make it to Shaw’s before we encounter them.’

Daisy swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on everything but the way his shirt gaped open, revealing a shadowy place at the base of his throat. ‘It is the most sensible suggestion I have heard.’

‘I will protect you to the best of my ability, Miss Milton.’

‘I was not worried about that. I have always been able to look after myself.’

‘Nevertheless.’

Daisy glanced over her shoulder to where the trees loomed large and shadowy. The woods had seemed so peaceful, but did they hide anything? She should have insisted on staying closer to the hotel. She had, of course, read Sir Walter Scott’s books about the area, but had dismissed his tales of robbers and such as pure fantasy. But now… A shiver went through her as she remembered how blithely she had sent Nella to get help. What if…? The world seemed to spin. ‘Who are they? Thieves? Murderers? I should never… Poor Nella!’

‘Miss Milton, giving way to panic never solves anything. Remember to breathe.’ His hands forced her to turn. She put out a hand and encountered his damp shirt front. Clung to it. ‘Deep breaths now. If you faint, we will be lost. How tightly have you done up your corset?’

‘I never faint.’ Daisy forced the air back into her lungs and ignored the image of his long fingers unlacing her corset. ‘Ever. There is little point in it for governesses. Nobody is ever there to catch you when you fall.’

‘Poor Miss Milton, not having any support,’ he murmured in her ear.

‘And corsets are not something one discusses with gentleman. They are unmentionable. But rest assured, breathing is required in my profession.’

‘Then you might be able to run or at least walk at a brisk pace.’

‘I attempt to be sensible in all things, but it is not my movement that is the problem. You are the one who nearly drowned. Can you run?’ Daisy lowered her lashes and stepped back from Lord Ravensworth. ‘What do we do next? Hide? Turn back?’

‘I want to re-acquaint myself with civilisation as quickly as possible unless you can think of a reason why I should not.’ His voice slid over her like silken velvet, but she could also hear the underlying steel. ‘You are speechless, Miss Milton. Is there hope for me yet?’

‘Do not seek to twist my words.’ Two bright spots began to burn on her cheeks. She twisted the handle of the basket. ‘I did not ask for this alliance.’

‘The state of your arm is the only thing I am concerned about.’ He raised an ironic eyebrow. ‘Are you offering something else?’

‘You are impossible.’

‘Silence!’

‘I…’ A hand over her mouth prevented her from saying more as her body was hauled back the hard planes of his. Her hand went slack, sending the basket tumbling to the ground.

Moving more rapidly than she considered possible, he pulled her into a hollow beside an oak tree. He pressed her into the tree, so they were shielded. His scent enveloped her. She could see the markings of the beating clearly, and the smooth column of his throat. Stubble caressed his chin, giving him the appearance of a highway man, much like a hero from one of the Minerva Press novels that her sister Felicity loved. Her mouth went dry as her world seemed to be swallowed up in his eyes.

What would it be like to be kissed by him? To have his arms hold her close? And for her body to mould against the hard planes of his chest?

Daisy screwed up her eyes, blotting out the sight and regaining control of her thoughts. She pushed against his immovable shoulders, indicating that he should remove himself and find another place to hide.

He shook his head and pointed. Shapes moved around on the other side of the river. But then she saw it; her basket had come to rest in full view with the book of poetry half in and half out of the top, getting ruined in a mud puddle. She had purchased the book just before they had left for Gilsland, an extravagant purchase, but she had also sent little presents to Felicity and Kammie. And it was going to be ruined all because of this man’s infuriating caution.

Daisy summoned all her energy and forced him off her. He raised an eyebrow as a dimple played in the corner of his mouth. ‘You did not like the position. You prefer to remain in control.’

‘I have to get my basket and my volume of poetry. It’s Shelley. I happen to like the Romantic poets.’

‘Where is your blasted basket?’

Daisy pointed and her ears rang with his furious oath. ‘Those men are not searching for me, and my sister gave me the basket. If they see that basket, they will search the area for its owner. Do think ahead, Lord Ravensworth.’

Without waiting for an answer, Daisy marched over to the basket. Her hand curled around its familiar handle as three flat-capped men crashed through the undergrowth on the opposite of the river. An overly thin dog ran alongside, sniffing, and occasionally barking. One of the men lifted his cudgel, swore at the dog and then hit it.

Daisy swallowed hard and kept her head up, fighting the temptation to sink low. She gazed up at the branches and not back at where Adam crouched.

‘Hello, over there,’ the thickset one called and signalled to her.

Daisy inclined her head. She forced her movements to be unconcerned. She put her hand to her head and discovered her bonnet had come off and her hair tumbled about her shoulders. Bits of oak leaves stuck to it. She must look like a wild thing. Or worse. Desperately her hands searched for a pin.

A soft crunch behind her caused her to turn.

A thin man with deep-set eyes dressed all in funereal black stalked into the glade. His bony fingers were clasped around a large stick. Every few steps he hit the bushes with it, poking them. Each time he lifted the stick, a tattoo of a blackbird on his hand moved. He paused, several bushes from Lord Ravensworth, and regarded her up and down. ‘And you are here, why?’

‘Is there some problem?’ Daisy kept the basket in front of her like a shield.

‘We search for the body, the body of a bad man, my friends and I.’ The man’s voice held a strange lilting quality to it. ‘A body in the river. You understand?’

‘I have not seen such a thing,’ she said, tightening her grip on the basket. Strictly speaking she had told the truth. Lord Ravensworth was alive, she told the voice in her brain. There was truth and there was telling the whole story. ‘I am looking for my charge, a young girl. Have you seen her? She ran off a little while ago, leaving me behind.’

‘We have not seen any little girls, alive or dead,’ the man intoned. His eyes were ice-cold and the pupils had contracted to pinpricks in a sea of red. He cracked his knuckles. His voice held a tone of sinister menace. A wave of cold went through Daisy. ‘We are looking for a dead man. He stole something, something valuable, something that belongs to me and my brothers. There’s a reward, you understand? A large reward.’

‘I would not like to encounter a corpse. Or a thief.’ Daisy gave an involuntary shudder and brought the basket closer to her.

‘They are far from pleasant, yes.’ The man’s eyes appeared to glow red in the gloom. ‘The things this man has done…’

Daisy willed her gaze not to go towards the hollow. She prayed that Lord Ravensworth would show sense. The last thing they needed was a confrontation. Lord Ravensworth might be able to hold his own in a fight the vast majority of the time, but not after being half-drowned in a river. ‘Perhaps it is best that he died.’

‘You would not have liked to encounter him alive. He has a bad reputation…particularly with the women.’

A shiver ran down Daisy’s back at the man’s leer. Had she misjudged Lord Ravensworth? She rejected the notion instantly. His grandfather had a sterling reputation and had spoken highly of his grandsons. And she knew from her time with the Flytes all about the Ravensworth fortune. Lord Ravensworth might have all the hallmarks of a rake, but he would have no need to steal.

She readjusted the basket on to her hip, forced her shoulders to relax. ‘Thank you for warning me. I shall return to Gilsland with all due speed. Hopefully someone will have found my charge. I should not like her to encounter such a man.’

‘My pleasure, ma’am.’ The man touched two fingers to his cap. ‘Should you find anything, anything at all, have someone send for Mr Sanjay.’

‘Yes, I will do that…if I encounter a corpse. You might want to try the waterfall. Perhaps he went over and washed downstream. No one could survive that.’

The leader gave an ironic smile and called for his men to follow him, berating them for not discovering the body. The thick-set man aimed a kick at the dog. The dog avoided the blow with ease.

Daisy kept still, watching them, resisting the temptation to run back to where Lord Ravensworth lay. She heard a faint crackle of a twig, but kept watching where the men had gone.

What if they returned? What if they were speaking the truth and not Lord Ravensworth? What if they discovered she had helped him? Panic forced her throat to close and her palms became slick against the basket’s handle.

Daisy shook her head, rejecting the notion. Whatever Lord Ravensworth had done, he did not deserve to be beaten and tossed in a river to drown.

‘They have gone for now,’ Lord Ravensworth said, coming out from hiding and brushing his trousers. From his fingertips, her much crushed bonnet dangled.

‘That is a far from comforting thought.’ She held the basket as a shield between them and resisted the urge to snatch the bonnet from his fingers.

‘It is not meant to be one.’ He gave an ironic smile. ‘False comfort does more harm than good. But thank you for keeping me secret. Thank you for believing in me.’

‘Were those men your attackers?’

He gave a careless shrug and handed her the bonnet. His warm hand brushed hers. Daisy concentrated on her hat rather than on the sensation that tingled up her arm. The bonnet had suffered and its brim showed signs of wear, but it proclaimed what she was and would always be—a respectable governess.

‘They may have been,’ he said finally. ‘It was a dark night and I have a lump the size of a goose egg on my head. Only bits and flashes are in my memory.’

‘His gaze made my flesh creep.’ Another shudder ran through her. ‘There was something about his eyes. Peculiar. Burning. I have never seen eyes like that before.’

‘I saw only his boots. They were far too fine for his manner.’ Lord Ravensworth put a warm hand on her shoulder and his breath tickled the back of her neck. ‘You must concentrate on the pleasant things, and not the things that are designed to unnerve you.’

A small curl of heat twisted its way around her insides. Daisy struggled to maintain control. She would not give in to the misconception that because she was a governess, she was desperate for a man’s attention. He was simply experienced in such matters and was attempting to distract her from her fear of the man. ‘I had the situation under control.’

‘You saved my life. Again.’

‘Then do not throw it away unnecessarily.’ She gave the basket a little swing. ‘Are you coming, Lord Ravensworth? It is your hide they are after.’

‘The spirit is willing, but my body is bruised.’ His face went white with pain as he started to take a few steps. Daisy’s heart clenched. Against her better judgement, she discovered she admired his courage and the way he treated his near drowning as the merest trifle. It made a change from Mrs Blandish’s dramas. ‘The river was a bit rockier than I thought. Lying there in that hollow, all the aches and pains have started to come out.’

‘You need a stout stick for support. And you should put the picnic blanket around your shoulders.’

‘The blanket is an admirable suggestion, but there is no need for the stick. I will hobble, if I can hang on to your arm.’

Daisy’s throat went dry. The thought of being near him again did strange things to her pulse. But to refuse would be to admit that she was attracted to him. ‘If you wish…’

‘I do wish.’ His eyes deepened to rich golden amber. ‘And maybe you can explain why you are choosing to believe me now.’

‘What do you mean?’ Her lips became full and ached with some unknown longing.

‘Why did you protect me from those men? For all you know, I may be a scoundrel or a rogue.’ His voice held silken lures and promises, making her want to lean towards him. But there was also a knowing glint in his eyes.

Daisy forced herself to concentrate on the way her boot still squelched every time she took a step. She had not been a governess for the past six years without learning how to keep her mind focussed on the things she should be focussed on.

‘I take against men who carry cudgels and spit in front of ladies. It is a small quirk of mine.’ She gave a small polite cough. ‘And one should never kick a dog.’

He gave a resounding laugh. ‘You have put me in my place, Miss Milton. Here I thought it was my innate charm that convinced you.’

‘Undoubtedly your high opinion of yourself will soon recover.’ Daisy turned her face from him and concentrated on finding her footing. One of them at least believed she was immune to his charm. It was an important point. She would do her duty and then this adventure would be over. She had forgotten how singularly uncomfortable adventures could be. Instead of wishing for something to happen, she should have wanted her cotton-wool life to continue, where nothing more strenuous than working out the truth in Nella’s latest tall tales was required.

He stopped suddenly, put his hands on her shoulders, looking deeply into her eyes. Her whole being quivered, but she did not pull away. Everything ceased to matter except the shape of his mouth. He leant forwards slightly as she lifted her lips.

A featherlight touch, little more than a butterfly’s. Then a gradual sinking of his warm firm lips on to hers. Before she had time to consider the shape or the feel of his mouth, it had ended.

Startled, her hand flew to her mouth, exploring it. The same but somehow different, fuller and pleasantly aching.

‘Miss Milton, as you can observe, I keep my promises. Your reputation will be protected and you will have a new pair of gloves.’

‘And who will protect me from you?’ She tilted her head to one side.

His hands took the bonnet from her nerveless fingers, placing it on her head. He frowned slightly and with expert fingers straightened it and tied the bow. ‘There, quite the governess again and impervious to anyone’s attempt at charm.’

‘I am always a governess. I will always be a governess.’ Daisy stepped away from the warmth of his body. ‘It is my vocation as well as my career.’

‘Or is it the shield you hide behind?’




Chapter Four


‘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.




Chapter Five


At the drawing-room door, Daisy smoothed the skirt of her grey gown and kept her head high. The brooch at her throat and the light shawl over her shoulders completed the outfit. The absolute picture of a sober hardworking governess, rather than the bedraggled waif she had glimpsed in the mirror earlier, and definitely not someone whom a man would ever embrace.

After entering the room in a dignified manner, Daisy made a brief curtsy to the assembled throng of women. Her curtsy was neither too deep nor perfunctory, but precisely at the correct height.

Mrs Blandish was enthroned at the other end of the room, a silver teapot at her side. The remains of two cakes littered her plate and several crumbs had spilt down her ample bosom. Her glance turned ice cold as Daisy rose from the curtsy.

Silently Daisy went over her savings once again. Whatever happened, she refused to crawl or beg. She would rather starve. If she could leave with dignity and a civil reference, another position would be relatively easy to secure. Five other families had been after her services. She had chosen the Blandishes because the salary was more than the others.

‘Ah, Miss Milton, I see you have returned.’ Mrs Blandish’s purple turban twitched. She set her tea cup down with a distinct clank. The naturally high colour became higher still. ‘How good of you to come and find me. I trust my daughter gave you the correct message.’

‘She passed it along, Mrs Blandish.’ Daisy inclined her head. Calm, collected, professional were the words she lived by. Mrs Blandish for all her airs and graces was the granddaughter of a fishmonger. ‘Without embellishment, or so Nella informs me. I believe you were at pains to explain the situation to her.’

‘Good. My daughter seems sadly prone to exaggeration since she has come under your care. Not a day goes by without some sort of incident. Today’s little episode was the worst by some way.’

Daisy’s neck muscles tightened, but she choked back a quick retort. Nothing would be solved by antagonising Mrs Blandish in front of the assembled crowd.

‘I am endeavouring to curb the tendency, Mrs Blandish. It would be helpful if she was not encouraged.’ Daisy kept her tones measured. Surely Mrs Blandish had to see the sheer nonsense of Nella’s allegation. ‘Her words are often the subject of much conjecture and gossip, rather than being treated as fantastical imaginings.’

‘Fantastical imaginings. Hmm, you do have a point.’ Mrs Blandish took an overly dainty sip from her tea cup. ‘I wish to reach the end of this coil.’




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