Cheryl Holt (16 page)

Oh, how could her father have placed her in such a predicament?

“We should discuss your options,” Amanda was commenting.

“For what?” Pamela asked. The liquor had her confused.

“I’ve always been your friend,” Amanda pointed out. “Haven’t I, Pamela?”

“I guess so.” Had Amanda been? With her reasoning growing muddled, Pamela couldn’t recall.

“Haven’t I helped you? Haven’t I given you good advice?”

“That’s why I had to find you,” Pamela said. “I had to warn you about my governess, Miss Barnett.”

“What about her?”

“Michael is in love with her.”

Amanda scoffed. “Why would you presume something so ridiculous?”

“I saw them together.”

“Really?”

At hearing the shocking news, Amanda appeared to be humored, rather than disturbed, and Pamela was angry at not being believed. “I saw them!” she repeated.

“I’m positive you misunderstood.”

“He’s completely smitten. I have no doubt.”

“How droll, Pamela.” Amanda chuckled. “You’ve had a little too much to drink for one afternoon.”

The coach had halted, an indication that their chat was over. Amanda put the liquor case away, then took Pamela’s glass from her. Pamela was enraged, but she was extremely lethargic and couldn’t seem to react.

“Let me finish it,” she complained.

“No.” Amanda tugged on the curtain and dumped the remnants into the road. “Now, swear to me that you won’t tell anyone about Michael and Miss Barnett.”

“But why? It’s horrid. She’s a slattern, and the entire world should know it.”

“I’ll handle Miss Barnett, so she won’t be around to plague you much longer. In the interim, I’m thinking we
should select a husband for you. And we should hurry.”

“A husband?”

“Yes, Pamela. Concentrate for me, will you? We’ll convene tomorrow night. At the ball you’re scheduled to attend. Watch for me. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll sneak off and talk about Michael.”

“Michael?” Pamela echoed. “What about him?”

“It’s time he wed. Wouldn’t it be best if he married you?” The door was opened, and Amanda gripped Pamela’s elbow and urged her out.

“Tomorrow night, Pamela,” Amanda needled. “You must remember.”

“I will,” Pamela vowed, and at the notion of wedding Michael her heart pounded with excitement. It was the perfect solution, and Amanda would know how to achieve it.

The carriage rumbled off, and she tarried, befuddled and blinking in the bright sunlight. She peered around, trying to get her bearings, and she was still in the park, and very near to where she’d started her furtive coach ride.

Down the lane, she located the path to where Miss Barnett and the girls had been feeding the ducks, and Miss Barnett was coming through the trees. She was frantic, furious, gaping in every direction, and obviously in search of her lost charge.

Drunk and disoriented, Pamela giggled and stumbled toward her.

“You’ve been very naughty, Pam.”

“I know, Michael.”

Michael and Pamela were practically cooing at each
other, and Emily yearned to slap them both. Michael had no idea how to relate to a female, except in a sexual way, and in the secluded environment where she worked and lived, Emily had forgotten that fact.

Though Pamela was sixteen, she wasn’t a child, and he was laughing and flirting as if Pamela’s offense were a harmless prank.

As to Pamela, she was an expert at manipulating him. She batted her lashes, flaunted her cleavage, and acted like a seasoned coquette, while he reveled in her attention. On their tense trip home from the park, Pamela had insisted that Michael wouldn’t care that she’d run off, that he wouldn’t so much as scold her, and she’d been correct.

Emily was so incensed that she wanted to grab an antique vase off the mantle and smash it on the floor.

“Promise me you won’t do this again,” he pouted. “It upsets Miss Barnett.”

“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Pamela mocked, though Michael was too full of himself to catch her sarcasm.

“No,” he replied. “Everything is so much more pleasant when she’s happy.”

“She can be such a stick in the mud,” Pamela whined.

“That’s how governesses are,” Michael agreed, the two of them conferring about Emily as if she weren’t present. “They’re born to be grumpy.”

They chuckled, and Emily had had enough. She jumped to her feet. “Lord Winchester, I told Pamela that we would let you determine her punishment. What would you recommend?”

He flashed his most dazzling smile, the one she was sure had women swooning all over London. Usually, when
he focused it on her, she grew weak in the knees, but in this instance, it was so aggravating that she felt like gagging.

“She doesn’t need any reprimand,” he claimed. “She’s learned her lesson. Haven’t you, Pam?”

“Certainly,” Pamela purred.

“There. See?” As if he’d solved every crisis in the kingdom, he shrugged. “Why don’t you head to your room and rest a bit before tea?”

All meekness and compliance, Pamela nodded. “Will you join us this time?”

“Probably not.”

“We’ll miss you terribly.” She rose, and once she’d spun so that Michael couldn’t witness her expression, she gloated with triumph, and she jostled Emily and roughly shoved her aside, though Michael was too intent on studying Pamela’s curvaceous bottom to notice.

At the last second, she glanced over her shoulder. “By the by, Michael, I chatted with Amanda in the park. She sends her regards.”

With that deftly tossed intimation, and Amanda’s name hovering in the air, she strutted out, her footsteps fading down the hall.

Emily was so livid that she was shaking. She couldn’t count the ways she wanted to murder Pamela, then Michael. It would be so sweet to be shed of them both, perhaps with a single, well-aimed pistol shot.

Michael grinned. “She’s something, isn’t she?”

“Is that the best you can do?”

“On the spur of the moment? Yes.”

She couldn’t figure out what she’d been hoping to accomplish by demanding a meeting with him, but when she’d stormed into the mansion, dragging an inebriated,
obnoxious Pamela by the hand, she’d needed his assistance. She’d had him summoned from his club, but it had taken several hours for him to arrive, and by then, Pamela had sobered up. Emily had foolishly expected to receive some support, but he’d written off the incident as if Emily were a nosy busybody, and Pamela a misunderstood angel.

Emily had to quit imbuing him with traits he didn’t possess! He’d hired her to watch over Pamela and Margaret, and he’d made it plain that he couldn’t be bothered about them, yet she hadn’t a clue how to be a governess or deal with their enormous problems.

“Do you care about this situation, at all?” she asked.

As if he’d cloaked himself in a blanket of nonchalance, detachment swept over him. He went to the sideboard, and insulted her by pouring himself a drink; then he returned to his desk and sat down, the expanse of polished oak stretching between them.

“Not really,” he admitted, and her spirits plummeted. Could anything move him?

“Then what am I doing here?”

Looking bored, he sipped his whiskey. “You’re very angry, Emily, so I suggest we have this conversation at a later date, lest we say things we don’t mean.”

“Have you any comprehension of the extent of her recklessness?”

“You’re making too much of this,” he insisted. “She’s a child, and she’s having fun pestering you.”

“She’s
not
a child.”

“She wandered off while you were involved with Margaret and Rose. She didn’t consider the consequences, and she—”

“She went for a ride in your ex-mistress’s carriage!”

“A regrettable choice of companion.”

He blushed, and she wondered why he would. Was he recollecting what Emily had seen him doing with Amanda? Was he embarrassed that he’d done the same with Emily? Was he afraid that Emily might wise up and realize he’d do the same with any woman?

She was so pathetic! She yearned to be special to him, but how could she be? He was a roué of the first water, while she was naught but a passing fancy with whom he’d trifle until he lost interest.

Reality was so discouraging, and suddenly, she was hankering for a fight. “Is that your only comment?”

He downed his whiskey, walked over, and poured another. “What factor would you like me to review that hasn’t already been raised?”

“Stop drinking when I’m talking to you!” His indifference ignited her temper, and though she sounded like a shrewish fishwife, ranting at her beleaguered husband, she couldn’t be silent.

He set down the glass, and whipped around, and she was delighted to note that she’d finally gotten a reaction. He was angry, too, and she was curious as to what he’d be like when he was infuriated. But for physical passion, she’d never witnessed much emotion from him, though with how he was assessing her, maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to provoke him. He was chafing like a lion whose tail had been pulled.

“Emily,” he said very quietly, “you’re presuming on our friendship. I’ve asked you to drop this subject, but you’re too distraught to honor my request, so I’m ordering you to desist. Your appointment is concluded.”

He’d goaded her beyond any boundary of propriety.
She felt too close to him, felt as if she should be able to broach any topic, and she was enraged that he would shut her out.

How dare he issue commands! She wasn’t his slave, and she wouldn’t be treated like one.

“She was with Amanda!” Emily shouted. “Have you any notion of what would become of Pamela if they’d been observed? It could have wrecked her entire life. And how about your repute? If you’re not concerned as to what people think of you, I’m certainly concerned as to what they think of me. Can you conceive of the stories that would spread if word got out that I’d allowed her to do something so irresponsible?”

“So I’ll speak with Amanda, and it won’t happen again.”

Her heart skipped a beat, a deadly pause stretching between them. “Are you in contact with her?”

The possibility hadn’t occurred to Emily. When she’d agreed to work for him, he’d sworn that Amanda would never cross her path. Afterward, when Emily had begun to philander with him, she’d assumed that he’d split with the notorious consort.

She was so naïve! How many sexual partners did a man need? Apparently, more than one!

He blushed an even deeper shade of red. “Emily, leave it be.”

“She’s not your
ex
-mistress, is she?” At voicing the question, she felt so sick that she worried she might retch on the priceless rug. “When do you see her? Is that where you are when you’re out all day? Is that what you’ve been doing when you come in so late at night? Lord, but I’m so stupid.”

“I won’t discuss her with you.” He gestured to the door. “Now be off, before this gets any worse.”

“Is she the only one? Or are there others? Are you still . . . still
interviewing
for a paramour?” He was obstinately, doggedly silent, and faced with his stubbornness, she bellowed, “Answer me!”

“You’re acting daft. Please go.”

He was calm, curt, and she stared him down, a thousand remarks perched on the tip of her tongue, and she bit them down to keep from spewing ultimatums he would never countenance.

She was prepared to resign her post, to stomp out in a huff, but how could she? Her life, as well as the security of Mary and Rose, was so intertwined with his that they were linked together like strands in a braided rope. She couldn’t yank her family out of his mansion and onto the streets.

As to his liaison with Amanda—or with any other woman, for that matter—it was none of her business, and as he’d so aptly indicated, she’d imposed on their relationship by supposing she had any influence over him. Why had she believed otherwise?

The explanation, when it dawned on her, was terrifying. She loved him! She did! Perhaps she’d been in love with him from the moment they’d met.

She wanted to chastise herself, but she wouldn’t. No ordinary female could share such intimacies with him and fail to develop a serious attachment. She’d been incapable of maintaining any distance, and with the blossoming of their affair, she’d jumped into an inferno from which she couldn’t emerge unscathed.

She wrongly thought that he belonged to her, which had produced the deceptive impression that she had the
right to complain, to demand better behavior, but she didn’t. She was raving at him as if they were married, as if she’d uncovered an infidelity for which he needed to atone, but she had no claim on him. None whatsoever.

Oh, how had she fallen into such an untenable trap? She had to be the most imprudent person on earth. She lived in his house, she ate his food, and she joined him in his bed. She was no more than a prostitute, no different from Amanda, whom he paid, the distinction being that Emily had nowhere to go, and no other options, so she couldn’t depart. He’d ensnared her as neatly as if she’d been his prisoner, and she had no one but herself to blame for her predicament.

She gazed at him, finding no hint of the affection she imagined lurking there, and she realized that it had been a ruse, a false perception she’d convinced herself was genuine. He looked at every woman the same way, even Pamela, even little Margaret. It was a trick, a flirtatious trait inherent to his male nature. It had nothing to do with her.

She’d stepped far across any line of what was appropriate between them, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he fired her, when she absolutely could not lose her job.

“I beg your pardon, Lord Winchester,” she stated, “and I most humbly apologize. I hope you can forgive me for my many lapses in judgment.”

Dying on the inside, mortified beyond measure, she whirled away.

“Emily!”

He was commanding her to halt, but she raced out and down the hall, too frightened to hear whatever else he might say.

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