The Viscount. Lyn Stone
of his assigned duties.
Guy laid the letters aside and spread his palms flat on his desk, regarding his visitor with some amusement. “Do you think I might see something other than the top of your head? You aren’t afraid of me, are you, Mr. Brinks?”
The face appeared then, limned with warm light from the lamp that sat just to one side of the applicant. Guy’s breath caught at the sight.
Small wonder the boy had kept his head down. Any fellow that pretty would have a damned difficult time obtaining employment anywhere other than on a stage playing female roles. Or perhaps in an institution where his unusual looks would probably go unremarked by his charges.
However, something was wrong here. Brinks hardly looked old enough to have worked three years anywhere other than as a student at school.
“What is your age?” Guy asked, his interested gaze traveling the length of the slender, graceful frame and back to the youthful face.
“Twenty-six, my lord. Nearly twenty-seven.”
“The devil you say.” Guy scoffed and shook his head. “Well, even so, I regret I can’t hire you. You won’t suit.”
“Why not?” The words were a mere whisper.
“Because you are too small, for one thing. This will require someone with greater strength than yours. Sorry.”
Brinks didn’t move.
“Oh.” Guy realized he still had the reference letters spread out on the desk. He quickly replaced them in the envelopes and handed them back. “I wish you luck in securing another position, Mr. Brinks. And again, thank you for responding.”
Even with that obvious a dismissal, Brinks still didn’t leave. He seemed unable to stir.
“Is there something else?” Guy asked, steepling his fingers beneath his chin.
“You must hire me, my lord. Please. Indeed, I must leave London immediately. The sooner, the better.”
Guy studied the unique features carefully. Apprehension lit the earnest dark blue eyes framed with long lashes. Color heightened the cheekbones any woman would kill to possess. Lips, naturally full and red a moment earlier, were now firmed to a pale tight line of desperation.
“Why so eager to get away, Mr. Brinks? Explain and I might be inclined to help you.”
Confusion reigned for a full minute, then a sigh rent the air. “A patient, my lord. He’s been released from the hospital and has come after me. I dare not even return to my rooms to collect my things. This man is dangerous. He has threatened my life!”
A lie, of course. Easily detected, too. Guy wondered whether Brinks realized the girlish pitch that ensued with the pleading. Interesting. “How is it that this dangerous individual was released?”
“A…mistake, my lord.”
Guy crossed his arms and ran a finger over his lips thoughtfully. “I thought all of the criminals at Bedlam had been removed to Broadmoor some time ago.”
“This man has committed no crime that I know of. Yet. In his confused state, he blames me for his confinement in hospital because I was the one to…to take care of him.”
“Ah. And how has he threatened your life? How? Be specific, please,” Guy ordered.
“Well, uh, he’s been following me.” Brinks swallowed hard, obviously struggling to control the fidgets. Unused to lying this way, Guy figured.
“Following you, eh?” he asked, encouraging further elaboration.
“Yes, and going about Town claiming to be me on occasion. He has even charged some things to my accounts at several shops! I dare not even show myself about the city for fear some will take me as the imposter.”
“My word, what a dastardly thing for him to do!” Guy exclaimed, becoming more fascinated by the minute with this Banbury tale. “Do tell, what else has he done?”
“I fear to guess, my lord. Please, could you furnish me with transportation of some sort and send me on to Edgefield this very night?”
“I see. And if I should do this, you feel you would be safe?”
The nod was almost frantic. “I believe so. I would be most beholden to you if you would arrange it. I promise I would work hard and care for your father as if he were my own.” A slight pause ensued. “For as long as I am there.”
Guy straightened in his chair and leaned forward. “You know of Edgefield? How is that? The place of employment was never mentioned in my query to your director.”
Brinks hesitated, then took a deep breath. “That is where your father resides, is it not?”
“I prefer my father’s place of residence to remain undisclosed. Most people believe he is at our family seat in Northumberland and I prefer they continue to believe that. You will tell no one of this, do you hear?”
“Of course not, my lord.” Brinks shifted, either unable or unwilling to fabricate any further explanation.
Guy meant to find how this bit of information had got out. “You obviously know more of my circumstances than is warranted. Are you from Kent yourself?”
“Uh…I hail from nearby Maidstone. I suppose I must have overheard someone say…” The explanation drifted away to an uncomfortable silence.
Guy knew it was useless to continue in that vein. He would have to be more direct. There was definitely something peculiar here and he needed to find out what it was.
This application was no jest, he was sure of that now. Desperation and fear ran deep in those troubled eyes that were avoiding his.
Playing at this no longer proved amusing and it was time to end it.
Guy stood. “The interview is now concluded. I do believe you need help,” he said with all honesty.
“Then you will hire me? I may leave London now?” Relief softened the face to the point where it was no longer merely pretty.
Guy frowned at the realization. With the worst edge of terror alleviated, Brinks had transformed into an exquisite beauty.
“No, you are not hired,” he answered emphatically as he leaned forward over his desk, resting his weight on his palms, his face scarcely two feet distant from the frightened applicant.
“Please, sir! You must!”
Guy shook his head slowly. “I believe it’s time for you to abandon this farce and tell me why a young woman would hack off her hair, don a cheap suit of clothes and seek out employment as a man. It is a dangerous charade, dear girl, whatever your reasons. Are you mad?”
Chapter Two
L ily ran, her last hope fleeing faster than her feet. She flung open the door, dashed out into the hallway and ran headlong into the old butler.
With a cry and a grunt, they fell sprawling, a tangle of arms and legs. Before she could scramble to her feet, a large hand manacled her wrist.
“Be still!” Duquesne thundered, crouching over her like a fiend from hell. His tawny hair tumbled across his brow. His piercing eyes, the gray of deadly steel, devoid now of former pleasantness, dared her to move. His jaw clenched and his full lips firmed in a grimace.
Lily cringed. The vise of his fingers loosened, but he did not release her as his attention turned to the elderly servant.
“Boddy? Easy now. Don’t try to rise too soon. Is anything broken?” He spoke loudly, but with what seemed tender concern.
She watched, amazed at the way he handled his servant, encouraging him to tentatively test his neck, back and each limb. Then Duquesne stood and assisted the old man to his feet, dragging Lily upright much less carefully with his other hand.
“None