Regency Rogues: A Winter's Night: The Winterley Scandal / The Governess Heiress. Elizabeth Beacon
ready to rape her made her feel sick even now. That was when Uncle James intervened and, as that boy hadn’t shown his true colours since, maybe his punishment worked.
Fighting the memory of that night and all the times since when even a quiet and outwardly respectable man would look at her with the memory of her mother in his hot eyes, she looked for somewhere to ply the needle and hank of thread snatched from the deserted ladies’ withdrawing room. Opening a promising door warily, she checked for fat and lazy fortune hunters, then slipped inside. There was an air of peace in the old-fashioned book room; a very small fire and one branch of candles cast mellow shadows. Her uncle by marriage would never come in here for a quick read; he was probably allergic to printers’ ink. She moved the candle and sat on a stiff and old-fashioned sofa by the fire to whip quick, impatient stitches into her torn flounce, glad to be alone for a few precious moments. Shifting the material round so she could reach the tear, she made herself sew more neatly, so it would look as if a maid mended it for her and that was where she had been all along.
There, that was the tear darned. Once she had the strip of fine French braid tacked neatly in place she would be respectable again. It was still trailing like a tail behind her when a suspicion this wasn’t such a wonderful place to hide crept up on her. One of Uncle James’s rules was assess all escape routes when you entered a strange room. She froze in her seat, needle in mid-air and every sense alert now it was too late. Another faint movement made her look round and see there was a gallery to this faded room she should have noted of earlier. Someone was coming down a hidden stair so slowly and quietly a superstitious shiver ran down her back.
Too late to avoid whoever it was now, she wasn’t about to run back to the ballroom with her braid trailing behind her, so she grasped the needle like a weapon and hoped it might work. Lord Derneley’s cronies were too soft and idle to fit into the narrow confines of the ladder-like stair she could see now her eyes were used to the dim light, so this was a less substantial person. Halting steps met the marble floor at last and she squinted against the candlelight and deep shadows it cast to see whom she must defend herself against this time.
‘What the devil are you doing here?’ a gruff male voice rumbled as Eve froze, staring at the stiffly held figure and telling herself he wasn’t made of shadows.
He took a step forward and stared nearly as rudely back. He looked both old and young at the same time and she wondered how such a shabby gentleman could seem so arrogant it was as if he owned the room and not Lord Derneley’s creditors. His overlong hair was neither brown nor gold but a mixture of both and his nose had been broken once upon a time. There was an air of contained power about him that didn’t fit his modest shirt points and a very ordinary dark coat and breeches. He shouldn’t be in the least attractive to a lady like her and yet he was. Now he turned his head as if to listen for more intruders into his domain and the candlelight struck his face full on. She could see a still raw scar high on his forehead that made her gasp, then wondered how much damage his tawny pelt hid and if that explained why he let it grow. Something wary and proud in his unusual eyes stopped her answering his question with a casual put down from lady to upper servant. Even from several feet away and by weak candlelight those eyes looked dark and light at the same time. He came a little closer to peer down at her as if she was an exhibit in a museum and she gazed up and saw his irises were brown, but his pupils were rayed with flares of light gold that made them look paler.
Here was a man who kept his hopes and dreams hidden, but when their gazes met something sparked between them that she didn’t understand. It felt as if he was important to her somehow, but he couldn’t be so, could he? Looked at coolly he was a young clerk in shabby day clothes and had nothing in common with the Honourable Miss Winterley. Still she felt an eager leap of the heart she had heard about but never experienced before; the dawn of something huge she never believed in until now. It threatened to turn her world upside down as they gazed at each other as if under a spell. Which was just plain nonsense, wasn’t it? There might be enough mysteries in this stranger’s striking eyes to intrigue a flock of unwary young ladies, but she was Eve Winterley and he was an upper servant by dress, if not his arrogant manner as he silently dared her to set him down as nobody.
‘You took the words out of my mouth,’ she informed him huskily, doing her best to act the composed society lady in the face of his impudence.
‘Her ladyship’s ball is that way, Miss Winterley,’ he said and Eve felt that tingle of warmth she’d been trying to fight turn to ice. The coldness in his voice made her shiver and something like disapproval iced his gaze as he dwelt on her exposed ankles and calf, then he looked away as if she offended him.
‘You have the advantage of me, sir,’ she said stiffly.
‘Carter, ma’am,’ he said unenthusiastically.
‘And now I know?’
‘The Duke of Linaire engaged me to sort the Derneley Library and have it packed up and sent to Linaire House or the bookbinders.’
‘Well, it’s a fine collection and Lord Derneley is desperate,’ she said, then wondered what demon had got hold of her tongue tonight.
‘His father was a notable scholar,’ the man said as if every word must be paid for and he was unwilling to waste them on the likes of her.
‘Maybe his son is a changeling then,’ she said, her temper prickling. She refused to tell polite lies after the evening she’d endured so far and this man’s hostility seemed to be coming towards her in waves now he’d taken a good long look at Miss Evelina Winterley and decided he didn’t like her one little bit.
‘Lord Derneley is my host,’ he reproved her, as if she had no idea it was rude to make comments about one when you were under his roof.
‘And therefore above criticism? I shall employ you to sit in my father’s library and whisper my grace, talent and general omnipotence in my ear when I feel less than pleased with myself and the world.’
‘I shall be very ill occupied then,’ he said unwarily—so that was what he thought of her, was it? ‘I beg your pardon, I’m sure dozens of fashionable gentlemen queue up to praise your elegance, beauty and cleverness, Miss Winterley,’ he added patronisingly, as if that should make her feel better.
‘Since we seem to be jumping to conclusions about each other so freely tonight, you must be a cynic and a Jacobin, Carter. Why else would you take against a lady you don’t know, unless you hold a grudge against my family, of course?’ she demanded, suddenly very tired of being Pamela Winterley’s daughter. Tonight was bad enough without a stranger sniping at her as if she must deserve it.
Colm tried to rein in his temper, but the sight of her looking as if she had only just left the arms of her lover made him deaf to the voice of reason. Apologise, then bow politely and leave her to her sewing, you blundering idiot, it whispered, but this was a very different Eve Winterley from the one he saw enter Derneley’s hall tonight. Then she was pale and composed; a dark-haired version of the Ice Queen, so cool and distant she could have been made of bronze and cold painted. Now she was ruffled and flushed and he still wanted to touch her, not to find out if she was real this time, but to carry on the work of the lucky devil she must have been kissing in the long-disused conservatory at the end of this corridor.
He sounded like a jealous lover and how could that be when he didn’t even know her? He still wanted to be the one who tousled all that cool perfection, though. If he had sent her racing along dusty passage ways to find the least-used part of this rambling old place and set herself to rights after their amorous encounter, now that would be much more acceptable. Even the thought of being the one whose kisses set her delightful breasts rising and falling with every fast and shallow breath made him hard. Exploring even the edges of passion with her warm and willing in his arms wasn’t to be thought of. No, it really, really wasn’t, he argued with