gritted his teeth. Damn the wench. Could she not strangle her scruples and accept his generosity? ‘Miss Daventry, upon occasion I play cards. I bet. Shall we say twenty-five pounds per annum as a companion? A further twenty-five as a governess. I’ll gamble the other fifty against you being able to dissuade my sister from marrying your brother.’
Her eyes narrowed again behind those frumpish spectacles. ‘Very well, on one condition…’
He might have known it. ‘Which is?’
‘If I am still in Lady Braybrook’s employ when your sister marries, the extra fifty pounds ceases. And should she marry my brother, I repay you—’
‘Not bloody likely!’ he said. And couldn’t believe he’d said it. What was he about? He never swore before females, but something about this one tipped him on to his beam ends. As for Miss Daventry—the ladylike façade was in ruins, her mouth parted in shock.
‘I beg your pardon?’
Sheet ice encased her voice. As for her eyes…that was it—the eyes were tipping him off balance. And she was angry, furiously angry. Beneath that calm exterior was someone quite different.
‘Er, certainly not,’ he corrected himself. ‘Otherwise, Miss Daventry, it would not be gambling. Would it?’
Under his fascinated gaze the fiery creature was visibly subdued and closed away. Prim Miss Daventry stood in her place. ‘I disapprove of gambling,’ she informed him. ‘You can hardly expect—’
‘Damn it all!’ he exploded. ‘What I expect seems to be going by the board! I expect you to accept my generous offer. I expect you to be ready to accompany me when I return to Hereford-shire in three days. I expect—’
‘Three days?’ Fire licked through the cracked façade. ‘I cannot possibly pack up this house in three days! Nor—’
‘My man of business will handle it,’ said Julian, pouncing on her implicit acceptance of his offer.
‘Nor could I possibly accompany you to Hereford!’
‘Why the d—why not?’ he corrected himself. ‘How will you take up your position if you do not?’
‘Oh, don’t be so literal!’ she said. ‘I meant I cannot travel alone with you. We should have to spend a night on the road.’
It was his turn to feel outraged. ‘Dammit, girl! Believe me, I’ve no designs on your virtue!’
‘It wouldn’t matter a scrap if you did or not,’ she said frankly. ‘My reputation would be ruined either way! I am twenty-four, Lord Braybrook. I cannot travel with you alone.’
‘You expect me to engage a chaperon for you?’
He couldn’t quite believe it. Five minutes ago he had offered this impossible woman respectable employment and they had been arguing ever since. Somewhere he had lost control of the transaction.
‘Of course not,’ she said impatiently. ‘I shall travel on the stage, and—’
‘The deuce you will!’
‘Lord Braybrook, I have frequently travelled on the stage—’
‘Well you shouldn’t have!’ he growled, adding, ‘And you won’t this time.’ Which was so illogical as to defy comprehension. Companions and governesses always travelled on the stage.
‘Yes, I will,’ she said.
Julian gritted his teeth in barely concealed frustration. ‘Miss Daventry,’ he ground out, ‘I begin to see why you consider yourself unsuited to the position of companion!’ The inescapable fact that she was perfectly right about the situation didn’t help in the least. Nor the defiant chin that said she knew she was right, and that she knew that he knew… He halted that train of thought at once.
‘Ma’am, I cannot agree to a lady under my prot—’ one look at her outraged countenance and he corrected himself before the façade exploded in flames ‘—for whom I am responsible, travelling on the common stage. Or the Mail,’ he added, before she could suggest it. ‘You will travel with me!’
‘Not unchaperoned!’ she shot back.
‘Very well!’ he snapped. ‘Will it be acceptable if a maid shares your room at the inn we put up at, or must I inveigle a Dowager Duchess into service? I’ve no designs on your virtue, but even if I had, seducing the governess in my travelling coach is not one of my favoured pastimes!’
Miss Daventry flushed. ‘There is no need to be horrid about it. I am not at all concerned about you. Merely how gossip might construe it. I have no wish to find myself the object of vulgar curiosity and censure! A servant at night will be perfectly adequate. Naturally I will pay for my own accommodation and—’
‘You will do no such thing,’ he stated with deadly calm. ‘As of this moment, Miss Daventry, I consider you to be in my employ. Any expenses incurred on your journey will be borne by me. Are we clear?’
For a moment the prim mouth took on a mulish set, but she dropped a slight curtsy. ‘Yes, my lord.’
Discretion, ever the better part of valour, suggested it was time to beat a hasty retreat. Before he strangled her, or worse, swore at her again. Having solved several problems in one stroke, he was in no way minded to have his plans upset by Miss Prim and Proper deciding she could not enter the employ of a gentleman so dissolute as to swear in front of a lady, let alone allude to the possibility of seducing her in a travelling coach.
‘I will bid you a good day then, ma’am.’ He set down his cup and rose. ‘I have business tomorrow and Wednesday. We will depart on Thursday. My carriage will take you up at seven a. m.’ He bowed. ‘If you do not object to starting early.’
She had risen too.
‘I will be at the top of the steps outside the Chapel of the Three Kings. Will a trunk and valise be too much?’
He raised his brows. ‘You will pack whatever you require. If it does not fit, a carrier will bring it.’
He held out his hand. A polite gesture to seal their bargain. Nothing more. For a moment she hesitated and then placed her own hand in his. Awareness shot through him. Her hand fitted his as though they completed each other. Startled, he met her gaze. Behind the spectacles her mismatched eyes widened, as though the same awareness had taken her. For a shocking instant their gazes linked as tangibly as their hands. Then her lashes swept down, veiling her eyes, closing him out.
He released her hand and stepped back. ‘Good day, ma’am. My man of business will call.’
‘Good day, my lord,’ she responded quietly.
Having seen Lord Braybrook out, Christiana Daventry closed the door behind him with trembling fingers and leaned against it.
Had she run mad? What was she about to accept his offer of employment? What if he wasn’t Lord Braybrook at all? And what was it about him that had broken her usual self-control? Not since she was sixteen had Christy lost command of herself like that. It hadn’t done any good then,
