Alison DeLaine - A Promise by Daylight

“I suppose I do, occasionally. It would seem you know more about men of leisure than you thought, Mr. Germain.”

“Some men enjoy horticulture, collecting insects, observing the fauna of a particular region,” she continued, completely ignoring his remark. “You could make a study of the natural world during your journey to Greece.”

“And yet I’m told at every turn that my efforts to...study the natural world are detrimental to my health and my soul.”

“There are any number of fascinating birds that dwell around the Greek isles.”

He couldn’t resist a grin. “Or on them.”

“I was not speaking with a double entendre, Your Grace.”

“Pity.”

They finished the hand. She came away the winner—and would have done even had he not exchanged that high card. On the start of the next hand, she had the dealer’s disadvantage.

She dealt the cards with an efficient familiarity, and he decided perhaps he would keep his advantageous cards this time.

“Tell me, Miles—you don’t mind if I address you as Miles, do you?—despite your disapproval of lusty pursuits and the double entendre, I’ll wager you’ve enjoyed a few women while you’ve been in Paris.”

“That isn’t something that I normally discuss—”

“Confess. At least one Parisienne has welcomed you to France with open thighs.”

“Not one, sir.”

“Not one? I find that very odd for a man of your obvious youth and vigor.”

“Not every man is entirely preoccupied with women—”

“Ah, I see. You prefer men. I do wish you’d told me before I sent Perry away. He had some thoughts about a possible companion whose company you may well have enjoyed—”

“That is not what I meant.” And now her temper was starting to rise, and her brown eyes that seemed so plain earlier took on a tigress sort of luster. “If you must know, in fact, I have enjoyed a woman or two in Paris.”

It was a blatant lie, of course, yet the very idea of it sent a lick of flame through his groin. He’d wager his entire collection of statuary that she’d never even enjoyed a man, let alone— Good God.

He reached for his drink. “Well, well, Miles, I daresay all this puritanical advice of yours is hypocrite’s talk.”

“Medical advice,” she corrected. “Besides, I am a man, after all.”

No. She was a woman, and a fairly young one, and despite her apparent skill at cards, almost certainly an untried one. Which meant he would not be having any real entertainment with her—not that he had any real desire to—because contrary to popular belief, he did have a code of ethics: no virgins.

It wasn’t as if he was seducing his way through England’s crop of young hopefuls and leaving a trail of ruination in his wake. Which was more than could be said of any number of men he knew.

The truth was, he was already a moral citizen. Edward ought to have been praising Winston’s restraint all these years instead of quietly suggesting that Winston reevaluate his priorities.

Change—and that vow—were entirely uncalled-for.

They finished the hand, and once again she bested him. Four more, and she’d won the game. Utterly trounced him.

She watched him with impassive eyes as he pushed a pile of coins across the table.

He raised a brow at her. “It would seem you learned more than just sailing during your four years at sea, Mr. Germain.”

* * *

IT WAS LATE when Millie finally returned to her room with a pocketful of coins.

The house was quiet, all the servants asleep.

But there was one person who was not asleep. She stared at the wall of her dressing room and imagined him just on the other side, preparing for bed, and a sensation fluttered deep in her belly.

She should have absolutely refused the card game. Two hours of bantering with him, of watching him from across the table, with that wicked smile that hypnotized her every time it touched his lips—watching him watch her with those dark eyes that glittered like obsidian with a wit and intelligence far deeper than his bawdy talk would suggest...

She went into her bedchamber, dumped the coins on the bed and counted them briskly, pushing away the image of him in her mind.

There was nothing deep about the duke. Quite the contrary. It was only too clear that she’d accepted employment with another Lord Hensley, after she’d sworn she would die before she would enter service to another disgusting lecher.

Disgusting? That’s not what you were thinking moments ago.

What she’d been thinking moments ago, she told herself sternly, was that this time she wore breeches, which would be a fair sight more difficult to reach into than her skirts had been to reach beneath—and this time, she was not the fearful, compliant girl she’d been while in Lord Hensley’s employ.

If His Grace attempted anything like what Lord Hensley had done, she would use her incision knife, and in a manner he would not soon forget.

She finished counting and sat for a moment with her hands around the coins, silently adding the sum to the wages she would receive.

With enough time in the duke’s employ, perhaps she could recoup the sums she’d lost. It made her ill just to think about all that money, gone. Five hundred pounds, stolen, ripped from her very hands. Slightly less than that left hidden aboard the Possession. And she would not be able to retrieve it, because she would never again be allowed to set foot aboard the ship.

Guilt stabbed her hard, and she squeezed her eyes shut against a past she could never undo. Friends betrayed. All of them—each and every one.

There was no one left.

For a moment the pain drove so deep she couldn’t breathe. But then she managed to inhale—a thin, reedy breath that barely filled her lungs.

She didn’t need anyone. She could survive on her own—she’d done it before.

Besides, a man wouldn’t need anyone to help him survive.

She scooped the coins into her hands, slid off the bed and carried them to her trunk, hiding them in the secret compartment at the very bottom. And then, snuffing the candle, she climbed into bed fully clothed. The wig felt lumpy and hard between her head and the pillow. But if she put on a nightshirt, and the duke had an emergency and found his way into her rooms...

Even a man’s nightshirt wouldn’t conceal the truth.

It wouldn’t be long. Only a matter of weeks before they arrived in Greece. And already, things had changed for the better because she’d left Millicent behind and become Miles. Miles Germain would not have to endure men taking lewd advantage. Miles would be taken seriously. He would be able to come and go freely. Miles would be welcome at the School of Anatomy and Surgery.

How much more would she be able to help people if she truly understood the body? If she could only see it—dissect it, explore it—so much more would make sense. Mysteries were hidden there. Treasures of knowledge that she wanted more than anything. All she had to do was imagine being at the school, participating in learned discussions about the latest medical theories, having access to thousands of texts, observing the dissection of cadavers—perhaps even participating in those, too—and she knew she could do anything the duke required of her.

If she were fortunate, she could make connections through the duke that would help establish her reputation after she’d finished at the school. Miles Germain, learned surgeon, would earn a handsome wage and be respected for his skills.

And when that day came, Millie would have no more reason to be afraid.

CHAPTER FOUR

“I MUST ADVISE against carriage travel, Your Grace,” Millie warned the next morning as she followed the duke down the main staircase. His greatcoat sat around his shoulders like a cape, unable to be worn properly because of his sling.