Kasey Michaels - What a Gentleman Desires

Since William was sucking on one of a handful of pastilles he’d inexplicably come in possession of, he neither agreed nor disagreed. He was too busy smiling up at Valentine.

“You’re incorrigible, and all your children will grow up to be entirely unmanageable,” she accused him quietly.

“You can’t ruin a child by encouraging their imaginations, my dearest grandmother always said, you can only achieve that by breaking his natural spirit to suit your will.” Valentine grinned. “She raised the entire current crop of Redgraves, you understand.”

“That explains so much. Your sisters were allowed to revel in fantasies and you and your brothers were given anything and everything you wished.”

“Two brothers, and we learned life has its responsibilities, as well, and one younger sister, who variously dubbed me her shining prince or the ogre at the gate, depending on her mood. Luckily for the young lady here, I suppose, I mostly was cast in the role of rescuing hero. With Kate, you rather had to be.”

Daisy shifted her feet in slight embarrassment. “Well, you certainly took to the role.”

“Thank you.” He gifted both them with an elegant bow. “Your humble servant, ladies.” Then he straightened, and called out to a young servant who’d just entered the greenhouse. “Here, young man,” he said, already reaching into his pocket, to extract a coin quickly slipped into an entirely new pocket. “The young miss wishes to have you assist her in gathering a large bouquet for the nursery, if you please. As for young Master William, he would very much desire a small trowel, a pot of water, an apron of sorts and a low table he can use to make pies. Mud pies. All young gentlemen enjoy patting out mud pies. Isn’t that right, Master William? Why, I can nearly feel the pleasurable experience of Redgrave mud squeezing out from between my fingers. Pure heaven, I promise you.”

For a child who seemed to never understand much of anything Daisy said to him, young Master William showed a quick intelligence in grasping what Valentine had offered. He grabbed the servant’s hand and began tugging him back to the trough.

“And a second bouquet, my prince, in thanks for your rescue,” Lydia gushed, dropping into her best curtsy before following after her brother.

Daisy opened her mouth to protest, but just as quickly shut it again. He was making the children disappear, and she was about to learn why, whether she wished to or not. She probably really wished to, much as she tried to tell herself she did not. She’d just have to stand here with her hair twisting itself up into ridiculous corkscrew curls and attempt to prove she was reasonably intelligent in spite of the mud and her damp cuffs.

“They’ll be safe enough, and near enough, for the few minutes we need, Miss Marchant,” Valentine assured her. He reached out and touched one of the errant ringlets hugging her nape, and a shiver ran down her neck, skipped across her shoulder, as if anticipating his further touch. “Almost alive, isn’t it, winding itself around my finger. I should like to see it all down.”

A lesser man would have burst into flame as she glared at him in her most stern governess manner. “Then it can only be hoped your grandmother also taught you how to deal well with disappointment.”

“Sadly, her one failing. Yes, well, down to business, I suppose,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning one hip against a potting table. “Now, who are you?”

“Who are you?” she countered, taking a precautionary step backward. “I already told you who I am, although I’m still at a loss to know why I did anything so foolish.”

“And your name is Daisy,” he said, shaking his head. “Really, Miss Marchant? That’s all you could come up with?”

All right, now she reversed direction, and took a step forward. “And what’s so terrible about Daisy?”

He shrugged. “For one, as I’ve already mentioned, my—”

“Your sister’s mare is named Daisy. Yes, I remember. How very droll. Nevertheless, that is my name, and I’m fine with it, thank you very much. How is it for you, lugging about a silly romantic burden like Valentine?”

He touched a hand to his forehead in a rather negligent salute. “I suppose we’re even now. Very good, Miss Marchant. Now tell me why you’re here.”

She decided to be deliberately obtuse. “Because you demanded we meet, and I agreed, figuring you for a madman who must be treated with some care.” And because I’m afraid you’re going to tell me something I already suspect, and much as I don’t want to hear it, I probably need to hear it before I’m forced to finally believe it.

“Again, I salute your attempts at wit. But much as I’m enjoying our sparring session, I don’t believe we have time to indulge ourselves much longer, so I’ll keep this brief. I want you gone from this estate, now, and you can tell whomever it is who sent you that only the luck of having a shortsighted idiot as your quarry has stood between you and a rather messy end. Oh, please add that the Honorable Mr. Valentine Redgrave sends his regards, and if he is ever so fortunate as to discover your employer’s name, the man can expect a visit from him. One he won’t care for, tell him. Sending a female here. Madness.”

“Because...?” Daisy asked, hoping if she pretended to go along with his nonsense he’d at last say something that made sense about why he was here. Right now, all he was succeeding in doing was alternately frightening and confounding her.

“You know damn well because, and I’ll be damned if I’ll be put to the blush explaining the obvious. We warned them, but clearly they only half believed us, otherwise they wouldn’t have put a woman within ten miles of this place. They told you something, as you’ve already disguised yourself, not that any but a fool would be deceived, so you’d have to at least be able to guess at what could happen to you if—”

He stopped, blinked and whispered something under his breath. From the look on his face, she was glad she couldn’t hear what he said.

Her heart was pounding now, whether in dread or confirmation of her worst fears, she couldn’t be sure. One thing was certain, she couldn’t allow him to stop now. “Yes? What could happen to me if—?”

“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe those idiots didn’t warn you.”

This conversation was going nowhere, and she was finished being his audience. Clearly he was convinced she was someone she was not. She would give him one more chance to untwist his tongue, but only because she didn’t seem to have a choice.

Daisy jammed her fists against her hips. “That’s because there are no id— There is no they. There’s no he or him, either. Can’t you please endeavor to get that through your thick skull? I’m here because I’m employed here. I’m a governess, and I dress as I dress because a governess does not seek out the attentions of husbands and sons or the wrath of wives and mothers, not if she wishes warm food in her belly and a dry roof over her head for more than a fortnight. Please let me know when you want to stop speaking in circles, and perhaps we can meet again. Otherwise, this conversation is over, Mr. Redgrave. And if you have not only lately escaped a strait-waistcoat and a cell in Bedlam, then I suggest you consider being measured for both.”

“All right, we’ll play it your way, mostly because I’m beginning to believe I’ve made a horrible mistake, God help me. You’re nothing more than a vicar’s innocent orphaned daughter, making her way in the world as best she can. Not here to spy on his lordship, not here to spy, God forbid, on any of us Redgraves who might have shown up. Whatever’s true, whatever I’m beginning to believe, you’d better believe this. Gloves off, Miss Marchant—you’ve fallen into a den of monsters that gather here monthly to play their terrible games. A hellfire club, Miss Marchant, if you’ve ever heard the term. Devil horns, hideous costumes, sacrificial altars, the entire gambit of debauchery. They rape women like you for sport, pass them about among them—and that may be the least of it. You have to leave. Now.”