Compromising Miss Milton

‘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.