Cheryl Holt (23 page)

She walked through the last wall of ferns, expecting to encounter a secluded bench and that it would be empty, so she was startled, and she jumped.

“Hello, Emily,” Amanda said, cool as a snake. “You don’t mind if I call you Emily, do you?”

Emily frowned, a thousand questions careening through her head: Why was Amanda in the house? How had she known when Emily would be in the solarium? Obviously, she’d been lying in wait. What did she want?

“Actually, I mind very much,” Emily replied. “It’s
Miss
Barnett to you.”

She spun on her heel, and Amanda spoke to her back. “Don’t go just yet. We have a few topics to discuss.”

Emily whipped around.

“We have naught to
discuss,
” Emily declared. “Be off. This instant!”

It was the height of arrogance to order Amanda’s departure. Emily held no position of significance that gave her any authority over who came in and who didn’t. Still, she couldn’t bear to see Amanda so comfortable,
so at ease, and acting as if
she
were the hostess and Emily the interloper.

“Won’t you join me in a glass of wine?”

Amanda gestured to a table where there was a tray of wine and goblets, and Emily was furious. A servant had to have assisted Amanda, had to have parlayed with her over Emily’s schedule. Who would have?

How could Amanda have free access to the mansion? How often had she been on the premises without Emily’s being aware? Was she a regular visitor?

Trepidation swept over her. Amanda wouldn’t have entered without Michael’s consent. He had to know, and Emily’s heart pounded. There were too many secrets swirling about. What should she say? What should she do?

“No,” she responded, “I won’t
join
you. I am a respectable gentlewoman, and I’m not about to consort with a strumpet.”

Amanda raised a brow. “Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”

At the insinuation, Emily tamped down any reaction. No one had detected her liaison with Michael, and she intended to keep it that way. “What are you implying?”

“Sit down, Emily.” Amanda indicated a chair that had been situated directly across from her, and Emily was faced with further evidence of how much effort Amanda had expended in preparing for Emily’s arrival.

“I won’t. I have no desire to speak with you.”

“Don’t be tedious. You’re trying my patience.”

“As if I care.”

She started to turn again when Amanda barked, “If you don’t hear me out, we’ll have to have this conversation in front of Michael. Would you rather? I can summon him
from his club, though I imagine he’d be annoyed.” Like a lazy, dangerous cat, she shifted and leveled her lethal stare. “At the moment, he’s gambling—which he always does on Friday afternoons—and he loathes being interrupted.”

Emily had no notion of where Michael went on Friday afternoons or any other day. When he left the house, he never explained his absences, nor did she feel she should pry.

She was out of her league. Amanda possessed the type of information gleaned through years of association, through familiarity and longevity. She’d been acquainted with Michael for ages, and she was intimate with him in a manner Emily couldn’t fathom.

Emily took a slow step, then another, and she sat as Amanda had commanded. Was she to be terminated? By the mistress? How humiliating! How galling!

“Has Lord Winchester asked you to talk with me?” Emily queried.

“What do you suppose?”

“I have no idea.”

Amanda poured herself some wine, and she studied Emily over the rim of the glass. “You are very pretty,” she stated, “in a fresh, innocent fashion. I guess I can appreciate Michael’s interest. He never could resist a virgin.”

Emily bristled with outrage. “Is there a point you wish to make?”

“It’s time for you to leave.”

“Am I being fired?”

“I hate to label it a
firing,
” Amanda mused. “The word is so callous, and you have been so . . . helpful. How about if we refer to it as a parting of the ways?”

“Is this at Lord Winchester’s request?”

“No, but he wants me to be happy”—she flashed a treacherous, ruthless smile—“and I have decided that you are not welcome here. You see, when I’m not happy, neither is he.”

“Have I done something to offend him? Or you?”

“Don’t be impertinent.” Amanda downed her wine and refilled the glass. “Let’s be frank, shall we?”

“Of course. Let’s be
frank.
”

“I know all about your affair with him.”

Emily kept her expression blank. “I have no clue as to what you allude.”

“Don’t bother denying it.”

“Really, I—”

Amanda held up her hand, halting any protestation. “I gave him permission to proceed with you.”

“What?”

“You can’t think his peccadilloes are any secret to me.”

“You and Lord Winchester confer over such dastardly details?”

Could it be true? Would Michael have sought Amanda’s acquiescence? Would he have garnered Amanda’s blessing? Had he consulted with her afterward? Did they snuggle in bed and laugh over what Michael had done with Emily?

She felt sick.

“Yes, we confer,” Amanda asserted. “I insist on it. I even find him some of his partners. He could never be satisfied with one woman. He likes variety, so I allow him to stray, but when he wanders too far, I rein him in.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Why? He matters to me in a way you couldn’t begin to grasp, and I would do anything to ensure that he’s contented.”

“But if he’s important to you, as you claim, how could you share him?”

“Sex is just sex for a man, and Michael is no different than any other. He’d fornicate with a goat if he thought it would bring him pleasure. I’ve come to terms with the kind of individual he is, with his perverted tastes and preferences. How about you? Can you accept him as he is?”

“I’m merely his governess,” Emily fibbed, though she was dying inside. Hadn’t she wondered about his philandering, about his ability to be faithful? He’d offered no promises, not even when she’d degraded herself by begging for them. “It’s none of my business how he chooses to conduct himself.”

At the disavowal, Amanda chuckled and raked Emily with a contemptuous sneer. “I can understand why you fell victim to his charms. He is a handsome devil, and you’re so provincial. You wouldn’t have had any experience in fending off such a libertine. His attention must have been very flattering.”

Emily was desperate to flee, to stomp out in an angry huff, but she was confused as to how she should act. She didn’t believe Amanda, but at the same juncture, she couldn’t be positive that the stories were false.

Mesmerized, she dawdled like a stump, and she couldn’t muster the courage to defend Michael, to shout that he was a good man, a loyal man. As she wasn’t supposed to know him very well, how could she have an opinion?

“I’ve heard enough,” Emily forced herself to say, and
she stood. “It’s not proper for the two of us to discuss Lord Winchester. He is my employer, and I admire him very much.”

“You’re not listening, Emily. Your interlude in the Farrow household is ended. I’ve let him have his fun, but it’s over.”

“I’ll go when Lord Winchester notifies me, and not a second sooner.”

Amanda sighed. “Michael had so hoped I could persuade you without creating a huge fuss.”

“You? Why would he send you to speak with me?”

“I was to obtain your agreement without hurting you, but Michael is a bit thick about females. He’s not aware of how smitten you are.” The weight of the world on her shoulders, she sighed again. “I can see that it won’t be possible to spare your feelings.”

“On what topic?”

“Another girl has tickled Michael’s fancy. He’s about to take her as his next lover. In fact, he and I may initiate her together. Two women and one man. It’s called a
ménage à trois.
Are you familiar with the phrase? Michael absolutely adores a threesome.”

“You’re lying.” The words slipped out before she could stop them, and all pretense of distance was abandoned. “Michael would never behave so terribly to me.”

“Wouldn’t he?” Unruffled, Amanda sipped her wine. “I can still summon him from his club. Shall we have him rush home, so that you can ask him face-to-face? Have you that much temerity?”

“No . . . no. . ..” Emily’s head was reeling, her stomach churning. In her immoral fling with Michael Farrow, she’d endured much, had relinquished much and given
much, but such a confrontation would be beyond the pale.

“We simply deemed it was best for all concerned if you left before he started in. He’s prepared to pay you a severance, but you must go immediately.” Amanda reached to a bag on the floor and retrieved an envelope, and she placed it on the table between them.

“What’s in it?” Emily probed.

“It’s the money Michael owes you for watching over his wards, plus a little extra. He’s penned a letter of reference, too, so that you can find a new job. The cash and the letter are yours, so long as you and your family vacate the premises in twenty-four hours.”

Emily’s mind was awhirl. She didn’t trust Amanda, yet why would Amanda concoct such a ruse? Amanda had to realize that Emily would inform Michael.

Or would she?

She tried to envision herself cornering Michael and demanding an explanation, but she never would. They didn’t have the type of relationship where she could pose such appalling questions or where he would answer them.

And what if Amanda was telling the truth? Could Emily bear to have Michael reiterate Amanda’s comments?

Emily had painted herself a fantasy, where reality didn’t exist. Her liaison with Michael was finite, a temporary lark for him. She’d built an elaborate illusion, where she’d convinced herself that he loved her, that he would throw aside his wild tendencies and marry her.

Bit by bit, she’d erected sturdy walls to shield herself from the hazards of her situation, but with each of Amanda’s remarks, the bricks were falling, pummeling
her with the folly of her choices, the danger of her precarious position.

Nervous and unsure, she licked her lip. “If I don’t take the money and go . . . then what?”

“You’ll be tossed out, without your compensation, without a character recommendation.” Amanda shrugged. “Mr. Fitch is awaiting orders from me to have the maids pack your bags. It is up to you as to the conditions under which you elect to leave.”

Despairing and afraid, Emily gazed at the rug.

What to do? What to do?
Finally, she murmured, “I must talk with Michael.”

“But he doesn’t wish to meet with you. That’s why I am here.”

“I don’t care. I have to hear what he says.”

“Daft ninny!” Amanda chided. “You were a plaything to him, a pretty vessel where he spilled his lust. Are you presuming that you’re the first virgin he’s ever ruined?” She scoffed cruelly. “I procure young girls for him all the time.”

It couldn’t be! It just couldn’t be! Yet Emily thought of her initial encounter with him, of the spiked punch and late-night appointment. Perhaps, he regularly lured women off the streets, women such as herself who were unsuspecting as to his motives.

How many had there been before her? How many would come after?

No! No!
a voice shouted. She wouldn’t believe it. She couldn’t. Still, she found herself inquiring, “Who is this girl you claim has caught his eye?”

“Can’t you guess?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“It’s Pamela.”

The response was so shocking that it took several seconds for the impact to register. “Pamela . . . Pamela Martin?”

“Don’t look so surprised. He’s been considering it for years. She hasn’t exactly been a model of propriety, and she’s tempted him enormously. So far, he’s held back, but she’s sixteen, and without her father in the way to protest, there are no obstacles. He’s ready to sample her fruits—so to speak.”

Emily remembered the occasions she’d observed Pamela and Michael together. They were always flirtatious. Emily had ignored their teasing and repartee, writing off Michael’s interest as being due to his male nature, but what if she’d been wrong as to his intentions?

Pamela was capable of any treachery, but what about Michael?

Could he debauch his ward? Was he that low?

She had to flee before she learned anything worse, but she couldn’t force herself toward the door. “He would never seduce Pamela. As soon as I can arrange it, I plan to advise him of what you’ve said.”

“Be my guest,” Amanda replied. “I’m positive he’ll be more than happy to discuss his peculiar sexual habits with you.”

Amanda didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, and her calm certitude rattled Emily even more. “He’s not the roué you allege him to be. You’ll never persuade me that he is.”

“Aren’t you the little champion?” Amanda laughed, then sobered. “You’re in for heartbreak. You know that, don’t you?”

“He’d never deliberately hurt me.”

“There are many kinds of
hurt
. Could you stay in this house when he was slipping into Pamela’s bed one moment, then into yours the next?” Amanda’s lips pursed into an unbecoming pout. “Think, you pitiable fool. Why put yourself through such agony?”

Emily couldn’t survive such a horrid circumstance, but insecurity had muddled her reasoning, fear trouncing her better sense.

Amanda noted her confusion and she prodded, “Why don’t you save everyone a colossal amount of grief by simply returning to the village from whence you came?”

Amanda was too confident, too certain. Emily was anxious to confront Michael, but what if Emily approached him, only to discover that Amanda had been doing her a favor? What if Amanda was giving her a chance to slither away before she was humiliated?

“I don’t know what’s best.” She lurched to her feet and stumbled away, barely seeing the path through the potted plants as she rushed out.

“You have till tomorrow morning, Emily,” Amanda called from behind her. “Don’t wait too long to make a decision, or it will be made for you.”

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