left in no doubt as to the outcome. He pushed her back towards the settee, his mouth smothering the scream that left her throat as his other hand closed painfully over her breast.
At that precise moment, the door to the library had opened and Oliver Brandon had walked in.
Helen hadn’t known who he was at the time. He had simply been a guest in her employer’s home. But during the long, agonising moments in which he’d stood frozen in the doorway, Helen had seen the look of shock on his face. And she had watched it change to one of disgust as he’d placed his own interpretation upon the scene before him. He’d muttered an apology and abruptly withdrawn, not even guessing at the true nature of the horror taking place.
Helen closed her eyes as the humiliating memories came flooding back. The only good thing about it was that Mr Brandon’s appearance—however brief—had given her the chance she’d needed to escape. Distracted by the sound of the intrusion, Lord Talbot had momentarily looked up, and in doing so, had loosened his grip. In that blessed moment, Helen had broken free and bolted for the door. She had raced towards the stairs as tears of anger and humiliation had streamed down her face and had run all the way to her room. Once inside, she’d turned the key in the lock, wedged a small writing-table against the door and pushed the bed against that. She hadn’t slept a wink all night.
The next morning, she’d left Grovesend Hall for ever. She had returned to London, where she had lived off her wits until she had been able to secure another position in the south of England. She had never seen Lord or Lady Talbot again. She hadn’t seen Oliver Brandon either. Until this morning, when he had brought his sixteen-year-old ward to be a student at Mrs Guarding’s Academy.
But it had been clear from the look on his face that he had not forgotten who she was. And he would surely be wondering how and why a woman of such loose morals had ended up becoming a teacher in a private girls’ school. Especially one where he was intending to leave his own stepsister as a pupil.
Chapter Three
Oliver was silent as he accompanied the headmistress back to her study. His mind was spinning, turning over in ever-increasing detail the memories of that fateful night so very long ago.
He had never forgotten what he had seen in the library at Grovesend Hall. He remembered with distaste the sight of Lord Talbot’s hand clutching the young woman’s breast, and the lustful expression on his face when he’d turned around and seen Oliver standing there. Even now, the memory of it repulsed him.
The problem was, Oliver hadn’t known William Talbot well at the time. Yes, they had frequented the same clubs, and they’d often run into one another at social occasions, but the difference in their ages had prevented them from forming any kind of a close friendship. But for whatever reason, Talbot had taken a liking to him and Oliver had been young enough to be flattered by his regard. So when the wealthy peer had invited him to come to his country house for a weekend shooting party, Oliver had accepted with alacrity.
He shook his head now, as he so often did when he thought back to the naïveté of his youth. He hadn’t known that Talbot was such a reprobate. But even if he had, Oliver would never have expected the man to flaunt his mistress in front of his guests during a crowded soirée. What would his wife have said if she’d been the one to discover them in the library?
Fortunately, or unfortunately, it hadn’t been Lord Talbot’s wife who had stumbled upon that sorry sight, but Oliver himself. He had opened the door to the library, wanting only to escape from the noise and revelry going on in the other rooms, and had come face to face with his host and a young woman locked in a passionate embrace. Obviously, the sound of his arrival had immediately served to catch the young woman’s attention, if not Talbot’s, and she had glanced up and stared at him across the darkened room.
For the space of moments, Oliver had been treated to the sight of one of the loveliest faces he had ever seen. A cascade of thick, black hair fell nearly to her waist, framing a face of such arresting beauty that he felt as though he was staring into the face of an angel. Her dark eyes had reached into his soul, tugging at the very core of who he was.
The memory of those eyes had stayed with him for years.
Then, belatedly aware that he had stumbled upon a lover’s tryst, Oliver had withdrawn. He’d closed the door and gone back to the ballroom, trying to lose himself in the crowd of revellers and merrymakers. But for some reason, the memory of what he’d seen had stayed with him, disturbing him to such a degree that even he himself hadn’t been able to explain it.
The next morning, he’d left Grovesend Hall and headed back to London. He hadn’t said a word to anyone about what he’d seen. Not even to Lord Talbot who, obviously too drunk to remember, had been surprised and disappointed by his young guest’s hasty departure. Nor had he seen the raven-haired beauty again.
Until this morning when he had arrived at Mrs Guarding’s Academy for Girls. Her name was Helen de Coverdale. And unless he did something about it, she was about to become one of the women who would have a direct influence on his impressionable young ward.
‘You wished to speak with me, Mr Brandon?’
‘Hmm?’ Oliver glanced across at the headmistress, and realised she had been waiting for him to begin. ‘Oh. Yes. I wanted to ask you about…one of your teachers.’
‘Miss de Coverdale.’
It wasn’t a question and Oliver frowned. ‘How did you know?’
‘Because she was the only one who elicited any kind of response from you. Forgive me for speaking plainly, Mr Brandon, but are you acquainted with Miss de Coverdale?’
‘No. At least, not formally,’ Oliver amended quickly. ‘I was not aware of her name until today. But I remember seeing her…many years ago under considerably different circumstances. I was wondering how she came to be in your employ.’
Mrs Guarding walked towards a fine black lacquer desk and sat down behind it. ‘Would it surprise you to learn that Miss de Coverdale was once a pupil here?’
‘Yes.’ Oliver picked up a particularly fine cloisonné vase from the table and turned it over in his hands. ‘Am I to assume she comes from a privileged background?’
‘Not privileged, but certainly genteel. Her father was a barrister. Her mother, I believe, was of foreign birth. Helen was with us for a few years and showed great promise with her drawing. And of course, she spoke Italian beautifully. After she left, I heard nothing more about her. Until three years ago when to my great surprise, I received a letter from her, asking if I would consider giving her employment as a teacher.’
‘Which you agreed to do.’
‘Most happily. I was delighted to have a teacher with her skills.’
Oliver nodded, pausing for a moment to deliberate upon how best to phrase his next question. ‘Does she have any…gentlemen friends?’
‘If she has, I am not aware of it. Miss de Coverdale seldom leaves the building.’
‘Not even to visit family?’
‘She has no family in England. Her parents are both dead and I have never heard her refer to anyone else in conversation.’
‘I see.’ Oliver crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Mrs Guarding, did Miss de Coverdale provide you with
