A Regency Virgin's Undoing: Lady Drusilla's Road to Ruin / Paying the Virgin's Price
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He frowned for a moment, as though trying to remember something, then added, ‘Did I mention earlier that I am currently without a position?’
‘No, you did not.’ Although why it should matter, she had no idea.
‘Then, my lady, I see a solution to both our problems.’ His previous insolence evaporated in a single sentence. In its place was a natural deference, with no hint of the obsequious servility she’d seen in some servants. ‘I have some experience in dealing with situations rather like yours. Until several days ago, I was personal secretary to the Earl of Folbroke.’
That would explain it, then. He wasn’t a preacher or a teacher. He had been a confidential employee of a peer. ‘And under what circumstances did you leave this position?’ she asked, trying to decide where the conversation was likely to lead them.
‘Nothing that would prevent him from giving a positive reference, were he here now.’
Drusilla was glad he was not. The room was hardly big enough for the two of them, without adding former employers into the mix.
‘I have letters to that effect,’ Mr Hendricks said.
‘Which are?’
‘In London.’
‘I see.’
He removed his spectacles to polish them before continuing. ‘But that job gave me experience in dealing with the sort of delicate situations that sometimes occur in families such as yours.’
Utterly mad ones, you mean. The way he’d been raving before, she was sure that he had interesting stories to tell, were he the sort of man to share confidences about his employers. Which he was not.
‘Handling matters with discretion is a personal strong point of mine,’ he confirmed, as though reading her mind. ‘And if you could ensure me of repayment when we return to London, a bit more for my troubles, and perhaps a letter of reference?’
‘More than that. My father will write the letter himself. And he will see to it that you are generously rewarded at the end of the affair.’
Behind his glasses, Mr Hendricks’s amber eyes glittered. References from an earl were no small thing. But if he could win the favour of a duke, he would be seen as nearly invaluable by his next employer.
‘The Duke of Benbridge will be most grateful to hear that the matter was handled with discretion.’ After he got used to the idea, at any rate.
‘He will not mind that you are travelling alone?’ Hendricks asked, searching for a flaw in her story.
Her father would be livid when he learned that Priss had run, and even angrier to know that Dru had not caught her before she’d left the house. In comparison to that, travelling alone or hiring a stranger would be as nothing. ‘He will not be happy,’ she admitted. ‘But it is not as if I am the one eloping with Mr Gervaise. I am trying to prevent his elopement … with another.’ If it was possible, she would keep Priss out of the story a while longer. If Hendricks knew of her father, then it was possible he’d heard gossip of Benbridge’s wilful younger daughter and would realise that the girl might need to be dragged kicking and screaming back home. ‘Just a trip to Scotland and back. It will be very little trouble at all.’ At least Drusilla meant to be no trouble. Her sister was likely to be trouble enough for two people. ‘Once I find the couple, I will be able to handle the rest of it. But if you could clear the way for me, paying bills, handling luggage and protecting me from men such as our companion?’
‘And keep my mouth shut at the end of it?’ For a moment, the candid Mr Hendricks had returned and was grinning at her.
She returned a small, polite smile. ‘Precisely.’
‘Very well, then. I am at your disposal.’ He offered his hand to her. She accepted it and was given a manly shake. His palm was warm and dry against hers and the feeling of carefully contained power in his arm gave her a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach.
When he released her hand, he had an odd look on his face, as though he’d felt something as well. Perhaps it had to do with the quality of the cooking, for they had shared the same food.
And now they shared a room.
Her stomach gave the same little flip. It was probably nothing more than nerves. Because Mr Hendricks showed no signs of quitting the place and leaving her in privacy. To speed him on his way, she asked, ‘And this evening?’ She glanced around the room, and then significantly at the door. ‘Where do you intend to sleep?’
‘Right here, of course.’
‘You most certainly will not—’
He cut her off before she could object and the firmness returned to his voice. ‘There was nothing in the agreement we have made that would lead me to believe I must sleep in the stable.’
‘Nor was there anything about it that implied that I wish to share a room with you.’
‘The implication was tacit,’ he said. ‘If not, you could have announced in the tavern that our relationship was an illusion.’
‘I never expected things to progress as quickly as they did,’ she said. ‘Nor did I expect you to be stubborn on the point.’
‘I see,’ he said. ‘You think my wishing to sleep in a bed when one presents itself is a sign of stubbornness and not common sense.’
‘I expect you to behave as a gentleman,’ she said. ‘And as one who is in my employ.’
‘It is late. And it is not in my ability to aid you until the morning,’ he said. ‘My service to you will begin at first light. I expect, at that time, that I will need all my wits to keep ahead of you. And for that, I will need adequate sleep. If you were seeking a dogsbody who would lie in the hall just to ensure your modesty, then you must seek him elsewhere. In my last position, I was treated almost as a member of the family and well paid.’
‘And yet you left it,’ she pointed out and saw the tiny twitch of his eye at her reminder.
‘But even dead drunk, I had the sense to leave London with enough money for accommodations,’ he countered. ‘You did not. I have paid for this room and mean to stay in it.’ He smiled benevolently. ‘Since you are my employer, I will hardly deny you the space, if you wish to remain with me.’
Perfectly true and annoyingly rational. ‘Then it is I who must sleep in the stable,’ she said, doing her best to look pathetic and elicit his sympathy.
‘Or on the floor,’ he offered. ‘Although it does not look very comfortable. Or you can take your half of the mattress, if you will leave me in peace.’
‘If I leave you in peace?’ she said, outraged.
‘I have no intention of accosting you in the night, nor do I mean to tell anyone of the close quarters,’ he said. ‘I know my own nature and feel quite able to resist your charms.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, a little annoyed that at the first sign of conflict she had gone back to being her easily resistible self.
He glanced at her, as though speculating. ‘But I cannot vouch for your motives. In our first meeting, you were the aggressor. For all I know, you are the sort of woman who forces herself on to unwary travellers and robs them of their purses, or murders them in their beds.’
‘How dare you.’
Then she saw the twinkle in his eye. ‘I am properly convinced. Only a lady of the bluest blood can raise that level of outrage over so small a jest. Your honour is safe from me. And as for my honour?’ He shrugged. ‘I doubt you would know what to do with it, should you find it.’ He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots, then stripped off his coat and waistcoat and loosened his cravat.
There was no reason that his words should hurt her, for they were true. They were not even an insult. No decent girl should have any idea how to approach a strange man in her bed. But she hated to be reminded of her ignorance and to feel that he was amusing himself with her naïveté. But it was late and she was tired, and could think of no alternative sleeping arrangements if he was unwilling to move. She stared at the bed, then at him. ‘If it is only for the few hours until dawn, I think I can manage to control myself.’
‘Unless you are driven wild by the appearance of a man’s bare feet,’ he said, not bothering a glance in her direction. ‘I will retain my shirt in deference to your modesty. But I mean to remove my socks and dry them by the fire.’
‘Is there any reason that I would be inflamed at the sight of them?’ she asked, suddenly rather curious. For other than in paintings, she could not remember ever seeing any male feet.
‘None that I know of. But if you wish, you may assure yourself that they are not cloven hooves.’ He pulled back the covers and she caught a glimpse of them as he rolled easily into his side of the bed. They were quite ordinary, although there was something distinctly masculine about the size.
But being able to travel with dry toes tomorrow would be rather pleasant. So she went to her side of the bed, with her back to him, and as discretely as possible removed her boots, undid her garters and rolled her own stockings down.
Then she glanced at the bed again, trying not to look at the body already in it. To lie down beside it would be more than a careless disregard for modesty. But she was very tired, and there might not be another chance to sleep in a bed, not even part of one, between here and the end of her journey. ‘I have, in the past, been forced to share a mattress with my sister. That did not upset my sleep.’ But Mr Hendricks seemed much larger than Priscilla. And he was occupying slightly more than half of the available space. She wondered, uneasily, how much room she was likely to need.
He rolled so that he could look at her again as she arranged her stockings next to his. His eyes flicked briefly to her feet, bare on the cold floor of the inn, and then just as quickly back to her face. He gave her a strange, tight smile. ‘But I am not really your brother.’ Then he removed his spectacles, folded them and placed them on a stool next to the bed. ‘We will manage the best we can.’ He rolled so that his back was to her again. ‘When you are ready to retire, please extinguish the candle.’
Once she was sure that his eyes were truly closed, Dru dropped the front of her gown and loosened the stays built into it to make sleeping a little easier. She feared that the shortness of breath she was experiencing was more the sign of rising panic. She was not even a day from home, but it was farther than she had ever travelled without escort. And on the very first night, she had fallen into what the map maker might label terra incognita, a place where the rules as she understood them did not apply. She was in bed with a strange man and both of them were barefoot. Although no governess had lectured her on this particular circumstance, she was sure that the forecast would have been dire.
She suspected that Priss would have managed the situation much better, for the girl had been so unwilling to follow the dictates of convention that she would not feel their absence.
But Dru missed them sorely. She must hope that the man she had hired to aid her was as honest and dependable as he managed to look, in some lights at least. Once he was rested and sober, and wearing his spectacles again, everything would be all right. She remembered the flash of gold in his eyes, after he’d removed his glasses, but just before he’d closed them. Strange, deep, unfathomable eyes. Eyes that had been places and seen things. And they had been looking at her.
‘Here there be dragons,’ she whispered, blew out the candle and lay down beside him.
From somewhere on the other side of the mattress, she heard a groan, and the muttered, ‘I will slay them in the morning.’ And then, there was nothing but silence.
Chapter Four
When she woke the next morning, she was stiff with discomfort and not all the pain she felt could be blamed on the stress of travelling. She had slept with her arms folded tightly across her chest, fearing that the least movement would rouse her companion.
But he had not seemed at all bothered by her presence. His even snoring was a demonstration of that. It had roused her several times during the night. Of course, he was quiet enough now that it was almost light and time to be getting up again. She grumbled to herself at the unfairness of it, tossing to lie on her other side.
He was silent because he was awake. Only inches from her nose he lay facing her, watching.
And why she had thought him a parson on the previous day she had no idea. So close like this, his eyes were reminiscent of some great cat. His body reminded her of that as well, for there was a stillness in it now that did not seem so much immobility, as the gathering of energy that came, right before the pounce.
And that attention was focused on her. Like a rabbit, she responded to it by freezing. Unable to turn away from him, she lay there, paralysed, waiting for the eventual assault, yet was unable to fear it. While she’d not thought further than the desperate effort to save her sister’s reputation, she’d put her own honour at stake. And that particular commodity was so shelf worn as to be practically useless. While it was foolish to put it at risk, she sometimes wondered if anyone even cared that she possessed it.
But in this moment, she was sure that Mr Hendricks had noticed, was giving the matter some thought and would divest her of it with efficiency and discretion, should she ask him to.
Then the man next to her sat up, yawned, stretched and reached for his glasses. He put them on; when he looked at her again, it was as if the great cat she feared was safely encased behind a thick, protective window. It watched her for a moment, then lost interest, retreating slowly back into its cage and out of sight, leaving the somewhat owlish parson she had noted on the previous day.
‘You slept well, I trust?’ he asked.
‘As well as can be expected,’ she admitted.
‘Very good.’ He swung his legs out of the bed and to the floor, reaching for his socks and boots. ‘I will leave you to prepare yourself for the day, and will be returning in …’ he reached for his watch and checked the time ‘… approximately fifteen minutes. Will that be sufficient?’
‘Certainly. I will go down to the common room for breakfast, so that you will know when the room is empty.’
He nodded, then left her.
In his place was a strange feeling, almost of bereavement. It was hardly appropriate. She had only just met the man and should be relieved that he was allowing her some privacy so that she could have a wash. And she had best get about it, for she was willing to wager that when he’d said fifteen minutes, he had meant exactly that and would be measuring it on a watch that was both properly maintained and more than usually accurate. He would be an efficient task master, well aware of the schedule and the need to adhere to it, if she wished to reach her goal.
She should be pleased. Had this not been exactly what she needed? But as she sat up and reached for her valise and prepared to refresh herself, she sighed.
Less than an hour later, they were side by side again in the carriage and travelling north. The man who had bothered her yesterday was there again today, watching her closely from the other seat. He eyed Mr Hendricks as well, as though looking for some resemblance between them or some sign that the night had been spent in more than sleep.
Mr Hendricks noticed it as well and gave the man a dark look. ‘I trust you slept well, sir.’
Drusilla smiled to herself as the man coloured from guilt.
‘I expect the day’s travel to be equally uncomfortable,’ he said, this time to Dru. ‘The driver was in the parlour when I took my breakfast; he has got word that the roads grow more difficult the farther north we travel. They may become impassable.’
‘I prefer not to invoke disaster by discussing it,’ she said uneasily.
Mr Hendricks shrugged. ‘It is better to be prepared against the eventuality of it. Then one can posit likely alternatives, should the worst occur and the coach fail us. Now, if you will forgive me, Sister, I mean to rest. It was a beastly night and I got little sleep.’ He glared at the man opposite them, making it clear who was to blame for his bad humour.
The merchant answered with a similar glare, as though to say, even if they were siblings, he did not care.
‘But if you need anything, my dear, do not hesitate to wake me.’ Although he said it mildly, there was an underlying tone of menace in the words. Yesterday’s troubles would not be repeated. If her harasser gave so much as a glance in her direction, he would pay dearly for it. Then Mr Hendricks closed his eyes and tipped his hat forwards to shield his face as he napped.
Drusilla reached for the book in her reticule and tried to hide the strange thrill that it gave her to be protected. When Priss was in attendance, Dru’s life was largely without such courtesies. If required to, the men who flocked around her sister might come to her aid, but it would be done as an afterthought, in an effort to curry favour with the daughter that actually interested them.
Of course, Mr Hendricks was doing so because she had agreed to pay him—and he was worth every penny. At each change of horses, he was up and out the door in one smooth movement, even if the coach was not fully stopped. It was strange to think of his movements as graceful, but there was a kind of economy to them that rivalled anything Mr Gervaise could demonstrate on the dance floor. And the sun glinting off his short blond hair was every bit as attractive as Gervaise’s dark handsomeness.
He would ignore the coachman’s cautions to ‘Have a care!’ and the shouts from the guard that there would be no time for passengers to alight, then go straight to the innkeeper. She could watch from the window as he described their quarry in succinct terms: a tall dark man, nattily dressed, travelling with a petite blonde in a black carriage with a crest upon the door. He would take in the innkeeper’s response, toss the man a coin for his troubles and be back in his seat before the horses were fully harnessed.
He was organised, efficient, left nothing to chance and seemed totally focused on her comfort. He would adjust curtains to make sure her seat was shaded from the sun, but not too gloomy to read. He got her food and refreshments almost before she could request them.
If she was the sort of woman prone to flights of fancy, she would come to enjoy it all a bit too much and imagine that it was anything other than a job to him.
A particularly vicious bump sent her sliding across the seat into him. Without waking, he reached out an arm to steady her.
To maintain their fictional relationship, she tried to take the sudden contact without flinching, but his hand on her arm was strangely unsettling. And for that, she had only herself to blame. She had been too much out of the society, if she could not even manage to accept a little help without reading things into it. Though it was hardly gentlemanly to touch a lady without permission, he could not very well let her slide off the seat.
Yet this felt like somewhat more. Almost as if he had been her brother, or a very close friend, and cared what happened to her, even without opening his eyes.
Because you employ him, said a voice in her head that was as cold and rational as her father would have been. It is in his best interest to keep you intact, if he wishes the favour of the Duke of Benbridge.
But more than that, his touch had been innocent, yet strangely familiar. Sure of itself. And sure of her. It had made her want to reach out and clasp his hand in thanks.
She took a firmer grip on the binding of her book, to make sure that the temptation was not acted upon.
It appeared, as they travelled, that Mr Hendricks would be proven right about the difficulties that lay before them. The carriage had been slowing for the better part of the morning, and Mr Hendricks had removed his watch from his pocket on several occasions, glancing at the time, comparing it to the schedule and making little tutting noises of disapproval. When she raised a questioning eyebrow, he said, ‘The recent rains have spoiled the roads. I doubt we will be able to go much farther today.’
‘Oh dear.’ There was little more to be said, other than to voice her disappointment. It was not as if arguing with Mr Hendricks would change the quality of the road, after all.
Half an hour later, the coach gave a final lurch and ground to a stop in the mud. The drivers called to the passengers to exit and for any men strong enough to assist in pushing.
As Mr Hendricks shrugged out of his coat and rolled up his sleeves, Drusilla looked in dismay at the puddle in front of the door. As she started down the steps, her companion held up a hand to stay her. ‘Allow me.’ Then he hopped lightly to the ground, and held out his arms to her.
‘You cannot mean to carry me,’ she said, taking a half-step back.
‘Why not?’
‘I am too heavy for you.’
He gave her an odd look. ‘I hardly think it will be a problem. Now hurry. My feet are getting wet.’
Gingerly, she sat on the edge and lowered herself towards him. Then he took her in his arms, turned and walked a little way up the hill to a dry place. He proved himself right, for he carried her easily. His body was warm against hers; suddenly and unreasonably, she regretted that she had not lain closer to him in the night. It felt delightful to have his arms about her and she allowed her own arms to creep about his neck, pretending it was only to aid in balance and had nothing to do with the desire to touch him.
Too soon he arrived at the safe place and set her down on the ground. ‘Wait for me here, Sister.’
Was the last word a reminder of her role? she wondered. As he laboured behind the coach, she could not manage to think of him thus. His broad shoulders strained, outlining themselves against the linen of his shirt. She could see muscle, bone and sinew in the strength of his arms and his legs as well, his lower anatomy well defined by the tightness of his mud-splattered trousers.
It made her feel strange, rather like she had first thing in the morning, when he had been staring at her. She put a hand to her forehead, wondering if she had taken ill, and then let it fall to her side in defeat. It was getting harder and harder to pretend that her reactions to Mr Hendricks were related to heat or indigestion. It excited her to have his attention, if she fluttered at every glance and touch.
Perhaps her sister’s foolishness was contagious. She was normally far too sensible to be looking at a man and thinking the things she was. More importantly, she should not be looking at this particular man. She had hired him, for heaven’s sake. He was her inferior. Not a suitor. Not a lover. Not even a friend. It was no different than Priscilla and her dancing master.
Except in one thing. Mr Hendricks had shown no interest in seducing her. Last night, with the candour brought on by too much alcohol, he had admitted that his heart was already bruised. He had been eager to withdraw from civilisation, particularly the company of women. If he had even the slightest idea what was going on in her head, he would depart from her at the first opportunity, leaving her to face this calamity alone.
As if to punish her for her lapse, the horses gave a tug and the body of the coach overbalanced still further. And then, with a horrible splintering, the mired wheel gave way. She covered her eyes with her hands, wishing she could reject the reality of the destroyed transport and the attractiveness of her companion. It was all ruined, as was her Priss.
And she could not help but think that it was all her fault. If she had behaved with more foresight while they were still in London, been more strict … Or perhaps less so … If she had been a better example, or listened with more compassion to her sister’s problems … then Priss would not have run away. And she would not be sitting beside a broken coach, staring at a man’s shoulders and thinking nonsense.
She felt the shadow of him cross her face, before he spoke. ‘Well, then. That’s done for.’