A Duke's Temptation (13 page)

Should she explain the reason for her broken engagement?

“Are you afraid of ghosts?” he asked unexpectedly.

“Of
what
?”

He glanced down at his desk, the question apparently one that embarrassed him. “Spirits, demons, haunted houses,” he mumbled. “That sort of whatnot.”

Lily blinked. Was she going to work for a gravedigger? “I don’t believe in them, if that’s what you mean. But—” She broke off with a guilty smile. “I don’t mind reading stories that give me a little scare, as long as they are not too gory.”

“A little scare.” He nodded thoughtfully and made another annotation.

“You are not suggesting that the person who will hire me thinks he is a ghost?” she inquired in an arch voice.

He made a face. “There’s no such thing, is there?”

“Not in my opinion. Does the gentleman believe in the supernatural?”

“Let us just say that he has an interest in the subject.”

Lily frowned. Her previous life of privilege as she had known it was dead. That was as close to the paranormal as she had come. At least thus far. To accept employment from a gentleman she had never met surely qualified as a step into the unknown.

“Your master keeps late hours,” he added as an afterthought.

“I’m not afraid of the dark, either.” Lily’s brows tightened in a frown. What on earth was he trying to tell her?

He dredged up a wan smile. “You must have some inquiries of your own.”

“Forgive me, sir, for what might be an impolite question, but I do need to ask.
Is
there any reason why I should be afraid to accept this position?”

“You will probably never find a more protective master in the whole of England, nor—”

“Oh,” she said, her body relaxing in relief. “That is—”

“—a more eccentric one.”

She closed her mouth.

“In his inner circle, he is regarded to be a genius.”

She brightened. “A genius?”

“Quite brilliant.”

“That
does
make a difference.” Although a man’s intelligence was no guarantee that he would not be a philanderer or a pinch-bum.

“I would best describe him,” he confided so softly that she almost missed his words, “as a trustworthy peer of literary inclinations.”

Lily put her hand to her heart. “That is even better.”

“However, I shall warn you that others have a lesser opinion of his character.”

Lily searched his earnest face. A warning. That was fair enough. Shouldn’t she return the favor? The brass knocker sounded at the front door. She guessed her brother had grown uneasy at the length of the interview.

She leaned forward. “I should warn you that I—Oh, there is no point in hiding it. I have recently broken my engagement. The man I was to marry—”

He waved his hand in dismissal. “Yes. We know all about your unfortunate experience. We do not give any credit to gossip.”

She blinked. “You . . . He . . .
knows
?”

“Your employer would not hire a housekeeper whose background I have not researched. Your family line is quite famous.”

She laughed silently. Infamous, he should have said. The Boscastles had broken every rule in the book. By virtue of their unholy charm, society fondly forgave them sin after sin. And eagerly anticipated the next. Lily had never considered herself part of the clan. But if she had to play their notorious card to survive, then so she would. She recognized her brother’s voice coming from the outer hall. “Does your employer have a name?” she asked.

“Well, naturally. It is St. Aldwyn. Assuming you accept the position, you will work in St. Aldwyn House.”

It sounded like a sanctuary for lost souls. “I accept.”

“Lily?” Gerald called quietly from behind the door. “Is everything all right?”

The solicitor closed his notebook, speaking hurriedly. “The manor house is near the town of Hexworthy, in Dartmoor.”

“Hexworthy?” As in Sir Renwick? Her heart leaped. It could only be a sign, though whether good or bad had yet to be discovered.

“You’ll travel by private coach to Plymouth. From there you will sail for three days. Another coach will pick you up at the port. It is three more days by land to the manor, depending on the weather.”

She nodded, exhilarated and frightened in turns. The sooner she began a new life, the better. She had to hope for better.

Lily found herself wishing for immediate death. Never had she known such misery. She was too seasick to drag herself from the yacht’s cabin to the state drawing room for tea. She could not console herself with a favorite book. In fact, she had reread only a chapter of the last Wickbury book before deciding that her mother had been right.

Romantic notions had ruined her.

Her hero had turned out to be an untrustworthy liar. The only hero in her current peril was the yacht captain, who rescued her by announcing that the devil’s own wind had blown the vessel into port a day earlier than planned. If she hadn’t been submerged in self-pity, she might have kissed him and every one of his crew for sparing her that extra day.

She would not have cared how unladylike such gratitude seemed. All that counted was that her misery had ended. And that, as promised, a huge traveling coach and four awaited her at port. The interior was comfortable, the driver and two footmen in long black coats silent but deferential. Yet after two days of travel, broken by an overnight stay at a quiet inn, the landscape grew wild and desolate. The coach passed fewer and fewer charming thatched cottages and lumbered toward bare crags. She felt a pang of anxiety as the familiar fell away.

It might be true that a brokenhearted young lady was susceptible to rash actions. But Lily hadn’t realized that in accepting a position as housekeeper to this unknown gentleman how completely she would veer from the path of her former life. She awoke from a nap on the rainy afternoon of the third day to thundering hoofbeats and decided she had also veered right off the Roman road of civilization.

What had happened while she slept?

Had the coach been captured by brigands?

She pushed aside the tasseled curtains in alarm. The creaking black coach bore her across the moor as if a demonic force had taken possession of the driver. He had seemed respectful when he had nodded at her that morning. It relieved her little to see the well-mannered footmen clinging like a pair of bats to the rear quarters. Were they being abducted, too?

She pounded upon the roof to insist the driver slow his pace. When he did not respond she grasped the leather strap for dear life, ground her teeth, and opened the window. To her disbelief the sturdy grays struggled toward a sheer wall of stacked granite that stood directly in view.

She stuck her head out the window. “Stop this conveyance immediately!”

“Put your head back inside the coach!” the driver shouted, throwing her a disgruntled look. Then his whip cracked above his head, not touching the hardlaboring horses but conducting a lightning-like charge in the air.

“We need to make the next inn before nightfall!” he bellowed.

“We also need to make it there alive!” she retorted.

He gave an incomprehensible answer. His voice was indistinct, his shoulders hunched in concentration. Lily studied what she could see of his profile. A thick woolen muffler obscured nearly all of his face. Although she had not made a prior study of his form and mannerisms, she was fairly certain that this was not the same coachman who had met her at the wharves. Whoever he was, his churlish behavior would not do.

“Sir,” she shouted at the top of her voice, “if you do not slow this coach immediately, I shall report you to the master!”

The vehicle plunged forward. She thought she heard the driver give a reckless laugh. Incredulous, she realized what the daredevil intended to do. Straight ahead she perceived a narrow aperture between a pair of towering stones. Clearly he intended to thread horses, coach, footmen, and terrified housekeeper through the fissure’s eye.

Her breath caught.

She drew back into the coach. Every muscle in her body tensed in preparation for what would certainly be a lethal crash. To think she had hoped for a fresh start, only to be annihilated by this gladiator of a coachman.

She closed her eyes as the shadow of the stones darkened her view. The pulsing clamor of the horses’ hooves merged into an unholy melody with her pounding heart. If she survived, she would indeed take this Hotspur to task. After all, a housekeeper outranked a coachman in chain of command. Unless he were one of St. Aldwyn’s relatives, in which case she would avoid riding with him in the future.

The driver slowed his breakneck race. Lily dared to open her eyes and peer outside. She wouldn’t be surprised to find the coach hanging cliffside in midair. Deceptively the towering stones had overshadowed a wider route than could be perceived from the distance. The clatter of wheels regained a steady rhythm.

She slumped against the squabs, her nerves wrung out.

It was raining when the coach stopped for the night at the sign of the Man Loaded with Mischief.

By some miracle the footmen who opened the door and took her bags appeared unaffected by the hair-raising ride. The wretch of a coachman had already disappeared from his box when she stepped outside. Presumably he thought to spare himself the well-deserved scolding that Lily had prepared.

 

 

 

She started for the inn’s entrance when an arresting figure strode up beside her from the stable yard. From the corner of her eye she saw him doff his black top hat and offer his arm. Lily resisted the impulse to accept his help. Gazing straight ahead, she edged discreetly beyond his reach.

Unfortunately she edged right into an ankle-deep puddle. She groaned at the unpleasant sensation of chilly rainwater seeping into the soles of her half boots. Almost at the same instant she realized that the gentleman at her side was the coachman responsible for her bruised posterior.

She gave him a glare that said he would answer to her later. Then she pulled up her hood to make a run for it.

“Miss Boscastle, wait.”

How imperious he sounded. Or was he attempting to apologize? Wasn’t it in her best interest to make a good start with her employer’s staff?

She turned in hesitation.

And stared up into the most perfectly formed masculine face that she had ever had the misfortune to behold.

“Do you not know me?” he demanded softly.

Rain cooled the burning heat that had risen to her cheeks. “Yes. You are the man who apparently perfected his coaching skills in a coliseum.”

He smiled. She wondered if she was imagining the sardonic intelligence in his eyes. Had she not seen that look before? Why was it so unsettling?

“Did I mistake you for a lady who sought adventure?” he asked, as if . . . as if they were sharing a private joke.

She swallowed uncomfortably. Heavens above. How had she given him
that
impression? They had not exchanged two words. He was far too familiar for a man in his position, and his veiled expression hinted at intimate knowledge. She decided that she would have to put him in his place or forever deal with his impertinence.