War Chest: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 5 (2 page)

How shocked would she be if she knew she was in the presence of a god? At least partly one. Before he was born, the god Mars entered his mother’s pregnant body and taken possession of the unborn child. Strange though it might seem, he lived with that dichotomy all his life and it was his normality.

He longed to reveal his power to this self-possessed young woman, to shock her and take her unaware. Just to see her reaction. Anything to break out of this damned malaise pestering him night and day. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept through the night.

“What are you doing here?” he rapped out.

“The—the agency sent me,” she said.

He didn’t need his extra senses to tell him she was lying. Or at least uncertain. She did not meet his eyes when she answered, and shifted from one foot to another. He held out his hand, beckoning. “Your characters, if you please.”

She gave him the papers. He glanced at them. They were very good indeed. Written with the same pen, in the same ink, at the same pressure, because all the stems were the same thickness. A bend in one corner told him the papers had been stored together. Not recently, either, as would have been the case for the journey from the agency to here. The creases were old.

He put the papers aside, well and truly intrigued. “The point is, Miss Carter, I’m not in need of a governess. The children are babies, not yet a year old. They will not require lessons on anything other than how to sleep and eat for some time.” He steepled his hands, pressing the fingertips together. “So how do you explain that?”

“The agency must have made a mistake. Taken months for years.” She brightened. “Yes, that was it.” Then she frowned. “I can supervise a nursery. These are your heirs, sir? You will want them most carefully cared for.”

Scowling, he told her, “They are not my heirs. They are my wards, that is all.”

“Ah. I see.” She didn’t seem surprised. So she knew about the babies? That would not surprise him—the scandal had briefly occupied London and appeared in the papers. He had been hard put to keep the mother’s name out of the gossip sheets.

She was exactly what he needed to distract him. Not her undoubted appeal to his baser nature, but the mystery that surrounded her. This woman was almost restful in her self-contained bubble.

Nothing about her stood out. Her gown fastened down the front of her chest, opening over a plain petticoat. She possessed features many would pass by, once they recovered from their shock at her height, but she possessed a pair of fine brown eyes that met his gaze with a candid frankness that appealed to him. Her hair looked silky soft, fresh as the countryside after a shower of rain.

Carefully, while pretending to read the character references, he studied her and sent his senses out to test her. Whatever his fascination, he would not put her in charge of his wards. He had a duty of care to them, if nothing else.

“What experience do you have of babies?”

“Very little.” She bit her lip. “But, sir, I do have experience of controlling households, compiling account books and so on.”

“Have you handled a small child before?”

“Yes, sir.” She paused. “I have cared for small relatives.”

So she possessed relatives, close ones. “I have no place for a governess here.” He glanced at the portraits on the wall. They were of his parents, and people he’d loved once, even though they betrayed him. Now he was alone. Except for the children, and they were not much company.

“Please sir, don’t send me away.” A trace of desperation entered her voice.

He hated to hear it. This woman had pride. Not like a society madam who took her control and her position for granted, but dignity, something often sadly lacking in the society maidens. Why did she want to stay here? Why had she gone to such lengths to come here? It must have something to do with the children. Then why did she not present herself as a nursemaid?

The answer followed hard on the heels of the question. A governess possessed a standing a nursemaid did not possess. A position. Because of the education required of them, governesses were often drawn from the ranks of the gentry. She had wisely chosen not to ape the servant class.

The babies unwittingly created scandal in society earlier this year, when their mother accused him of being the father. In the middle of a ball, no less.

Ruth Carter was here for the babies, anxious about them, which meant she knew something. Was she a relative? Where Rhea was short, blonde and curvy, this woman was tall, angular and unprepossessing.

Was she someone with a misguided sense of vengeance? Not against the children, but against him. That was entirely possible. The Pantheon had many enemies, some of them powerful. This woman had nowhere near his power. If she was an immortal, concealing her strength, he would destroy her.

If not, he’d discover what she was at. At last, he would have something to do, instead of wandering this place waiting for something to happen.

Well, it had happened.

“Very well,” he said. “I will offer something. I understand you’re the child of a—” He glanced at the paper although he didn’t need to—“A cleric. A country vicar with, oh my word, thirteen children. No wonder you needed to find a place in the world. Are they the babies you said you’d handled?”

She nodded, but her face had gone pale. With her creamy skin, the pallor made her appear ill. Marcus found he didn’t enjoy bringing that to her, but he might make her worse before he was done.

Curiosity turned to fascination. She had come here on her own. The babies would be safe if he took certain precautions, and their nursemaid, another immortal, would help with that.

“You may supervise the nursery for a time. I will make it clear you are a governess, not a nursemaid, if your status in the household concerns you. I will not pay you a governess’ salary, but a reasonable one. You will organise the nursery wing and prepare it for children.” After all, he might marry.

His mind rejected that immediately. The only woman he’d wanted to marry was lost to him. He did not desire another.

“When the children are older, you may take care of their education. I am a wealthy man. I can afford to employ extra staff. One thing, Miss Carter.”

Her expression lightened. “Yes, your grace?”

“You must dine with me when I request it, and talk with me. I want to be absolutely sure you have the quality of mind that I wish for the children.”

She blinked, and her eyes clouded.

He looked forward to whatever would happen next. He would curb his impatience. The practice would do him good.

Chapter Two

After the housekeeper had shown her to a small room on the nursery wing, remarkably similar to the one she occupied in Cumbria, Ruth sat on the bed and discovered the first difference. She didn’t have a lumpy horsehair mattress here, as she had at home, but a feather one. A remarkable thing, to give a servant a feather bed. The furniture was about as old and just as well polished as the one she had left, but she kept her own room clean. Good practice, her mother said, though for what Ruth didn’t know, since she was fated to live at home all her days.

Not if she could help it. Perhaps the duke would give her a real character reference. She must prove to him that she was educated enough, but the babies would not need a proper governess for years, four or five. The nursery maids could teach them their letters. Governesses were usually employed for young boys and older girls.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Brindlehurst, possessed a stiff demeanour that intimidated Ruth, although she tried not to show it. Once out of earshot of the study, she vented her displeasure. “I don’t know what the duke is about, employing a governess, and the children not yet one year old. If you were a different type of woman, Miss Carter, I’d suspect something else. Governesses often have many duties.” She sniffed and shot a glare up at Ruth. Ruth overtopped her by a good four inches.

She had no idea how tall the duke was. He did not rise, which was proper, since she was an employee, but he’d lounged in his chair. He was a big man, built on generous lines, but he could be stocky.

One thing was for sure—the Duke of Lyndhurst was a very handsome man. Dark hair had peeped from under his pale wig, and his jaw was shaded with black stubble. He was possessed of a pair of slate-grey eyes, dark, or maybe that was from the effect of the bright sunlight streaming through the window behind him. The light streamed around him, creating a nimbus, and making her blink, so bright was it. She prayed he was not too much shorter than her, but she couldn’t imagine he would be so.

She snorted. What did it matter? He was a duke, she was a governess. And he was the rogue who seduced her sister.

“Ah well, girl.” Mrs. Brindlehurst’s voice softened and she patted Ruth’s arm in an awkward fashion. “It’s just that he put me out, doing this, set the household on its ear. Settle in, meet the nursemaid and the babies, and we’ll see what he wants. He hasn’t been himself recently. He cut the staff when he came home. There’s only ten of us for this whole place, so we’ve put a lot of rooms in Holland covers until he’s made his mind up what to do.”

She snapped her mouth closed, as if she was about to say something else, then thought better of it. “We shall see. You will eat in the upper servant’s hall normally, but the duke wishes you to dine with him tonight.” She cocked a brow. “It isn’t something he normally does.”

The words possessed a certain innuendo.

Having gained a little privacy, Ruth set to unpacking her meagre belongings. She’d left home with one bag, so she only owned a few items, and only two spare gowns, all she could stuff in to the restricted space. They were both her plainest. Perhaps in town, if her parents decided to keep in touch, they would send her other clothes and the items that meant so much to her but she was forced to leave behind. In truth, the trudge from where the coach had dropped her to the house taxed her strength. Her wrists still ached from carrying her bag.

She was a working woman now and she needed to build up her strength. She would need to work long hours without complaint and keep her wits about her. Time to start.

After taking off her travelling clothes, she swiftly dressed in a gown of soft blue, with a plain petticoat, and found her other pair of shoes, softer and more suited for indoor wear, but brown leather, not satin or brocade, and fastened with small silver buckles. Respectable and understated.

A small mirror hung above the small chest of drawers set against one wall and she took her brush to smooth her hair. Then she was ready. No face paint, no fussy details and no fancy lace ruffles, merely a linen frill at the end of her elbow-length sleeves to make her appearance respectable.

She found the lack of fuss almost a relief, although the part of her that always wished for beauty still pined for lovely fabrics and jewellery. No matter.

The afternoon was wearing on, and still she had not viewed her domain. Her room was at the end of the nursery suite, and relatively secluded. It possessed one door to the outside corridor, narrower than on the floors below, and with only one set of doors opening off one side. The other side was window, overlooking the parkland at the front of the house. She did not stop to study it, only noted it in passing. This was her small kingdom, she reminded herself, and opened the door next to hers.

Her gaze met a large room furnished well but plainly, the shelves, tables and blackboard indicating a schoolroom. It had clearly been used in the past, the furniture worn, the surfaces scarred, but it smelled of furniture polish and nothing else. The babies would hardly have cause to use it.

She closed the door and passed on. She pressed the latch on the next door and found the nursery.

A woman spun around, finger pressed to her lips, but Ruth didn’t need the warning to realise the two cradles held her charges and they were asleep. Ruth had barely time to take in the sight of the two slumbering babies, one with a thumb in his mouth, the other lying on his back.

The woman moved to meet her, urged her through and closed the door. “You’re the new nusery maid?” At Ruth’s nod, she added, “We have a sitting-room next door. We can go in there. I can still hear the children.”

Ruth held out her hand. “I’m Ruth C-Carter.”

The woman nodded and touched her hand briefly. “Andrea Willoughby. Pleased to meet you.” Like Ruth, she wore plain, simple clothes, but hers were much prettier, lighter coloured with flowers printed on the fabric. More suited to the warm weather too. Over the whole, she wore a large, white apron.

Ruth’s summer clothes were in her other chest, which she kept in her sister’s larger room. She’d had no opportunity to fetch any of those. Served her right for not seeing to her summer and winter clothes sooner.

“I’m a governess,” Ruth said, deciding honesty was probably her best way ahead here. “I was sent here in error, but I’m used to organising and managing schoolrooms, so his grace has decided to keep me until he finds someone better.” She didn’t want to make an enemy here, and she was deeply aware of her superior status to the maid, who had been here all along.

Andrea did not appear impressed. “Do you think you will stay as head nursemaid?”

Ruth shook her head. “The duke says he will replace me as soon as he finds someone more experienced.” Fear clutched her. She’d thrown away any semblance of security she possessed in life. What would she do then? Go to the agency and find a real governess position? She must do her best in this position. She could not afford to make a mess of it.

There was nothing between her and total ruin. A spiral of panic scrambled her brains until she forced the thought aside.

Scraping back her chair, she got to her feet. “I must go downstairs. The duke wishes to complete his interview over dinner.” She stopped at the door, but decided not to say what she wanted to. To tell Andrea she was no threat to her would mean Andrea would realise her uncertainty and the fear Ruth tamped down.

She needed to find the drawing room, or the dining room. Retracing her steps, she found the staircase she’d used earlier, but at the bottom she could not remember which way she should go next. Right or left? She decided on right. She would come across something soon.

Not anything she recollected. Pulling her watch from her pocket, she checked the time. In ten minutes she would be late. Did this massive place contain more than one dining room? If only she could find a servant to direct her.

The doors facing her were all closed, and she dared not open them. Nobody in sight, or her hearing. Her feet tapping down the corridor were the only sounds she could hear and when she paused at the top of another flight of stairs, she could detect nothing.

These stairs were of marble, with elaborately carved banisters, the walls painted with a mythological scene. While not a great hall, they were obviously for the residents rather than the staff. She should probably not be here. She must find her way down. Keeping her watch in her hand, she checked the time again. Five minutes now.

In her haste she nearly slipped on the edge of a step. Only clutching the banister rail helped her. Down here she heard sounds. The clink of china. When she followed, she lost track. The sound had not come from this floor. She went only to the corner, because the rooms on this floor had taller doors, grander carving. This was most definitely not intended for her. Her watch slipped out of her hand, and she grabbed the chain to save it. She was late. She shoved the timepiece back in her pocket and went down the stairs to the ground floor.

She emerged in a huge hall that made her gasp.

Goodness, what on earth was this?

Painted animals frolicked around the walls, some delightfully imaginative, like animals she’d never seen before. A deep green background covered most of the walls, with a brilliant blue sky, over which white clouds scudded. Animals everywhere.

She turned around, her skirts billowing, her appointment temporarily forgotten. “Wonderful,” she murmured, her voice echoing off the walls. A great double staircase rose to a gallery, above which was painted a figure, presumably God, but with the features of an aristocrat and dressed in robes reminding her of the last century. Beautiful women with wings stood around, gazing down at the creatures marching up either side of the walls and downstairs.

A male voice sounded close. “Who are you?”

With a squeak of alarm, she spun around to see a man. He grinned. “What are you doing here?” His attire indicated a servant, neat and well ordered, but not expensively dressed.

She knew better than to assume anything. She dropped a curtsey, which brought her to the same height as the man. He must be three inches shorter than she was, but unlike many people, he didn’t appear the least abashed. “Well?” He tapped his foot. His pale grey eyes glared, sharp as steel.

“Please sir, I’m the new governess.”

“A governess for those babies? A beanpole, that’s what you are.” His tone was incredulous rather than disapproving.

“His lordship interviewed me this afternoon, briefly. He ordered me to dine with him, but I couldn’t find—”

“Ah.” He grinned, a flash of humour that soon dissipated. “You’re in entirely the wrong part of the house. Come with me. His grace hates his food cold. Your tardiness will put him in a fine temper.”

He led the way back up the stairs. “This is the Great Hall. Can you tell what this is?”

“Noah’s Ark?” she ventured, although the animals were not marching two by two and she saw no boat.

“The Garden of Eden before God created Adam,” he said shortly. “The duke of the time wished to emulate the Heaven and Hell halls at Chatsworth, but the French artist he employed did animals better than people. This house is a great square, set around two quadrangles, so if you keep turning in the same direction you will eventually find yourself where you started.”

“That’s good to know, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He stopped dead and she almost cannoned into him. “I’m Henstall, the butler. You are…?”

“Ruth Carter.” She said the name without hesitation.

Henstall tilted his head on one side. “I see. Come this way.” He set off again, so fast she must hurry to keep up with him. Along the daunting looking hallway. “You’re not allowed here, either, in the normal way of things, but it’s the fastest way.”

These rooms were definitely on the grand side. Passing a few open doors Ruth caught glimpses of beautifully decorated rooms. As Mrs. Brindlehurst had told her, the furniture was shrouded in covers. Did his grace not use these apartments?

“These are the state apartments,” Henstall told her as if she’d spoken aloud. “They are used when his grace has visitors. He prefers the family rooms.”

As far as she could tell they retraced the steps she’d taken on the floor above. Damn. Turn
left
at the bottom of the stairs. Henstall took her to the end of the hallway and turned a corner, to another area. Then down another flight of stairs. They were on the floor set just above ground level. Below them would be the servants’ quarters and the offices.

He opened a door and jerked his chin. “There you are, girl. Do you think you can remember that?”

“Th-thank you.” The haste made her breathless.

The Duke of Lyndhurst stood before her, hands thrust in his pockets, glowering at her.

Ruth dropped a curtsey, while Henstall addressed his grace. “I found her at the stable entrance.”

Ruth straightened. “I beg your pardon, your grace.”

“First of all, address me as ‘sir’. I know I’m a duke, I don’t need reminding all day. Secondly, what the devil were you doing all the way over there? Snooping?”

“No, of course not!”

She could have sworn she heard a chuckle from behind her. “We managed to rescue the trout, sir,” Henstall said. “You must go through directly if you wish to partake of it before it dries to leather.”

“We can’t have that, can we?” he said. “Come, Miss Carter!”

Pulling his hands free, he led the way through a set of double doors into a dining room.

The furnishings were sturdy, but now Ruth saw the duke from top to toe, she knew why. He overtopped her easily by at least four inches. The man was a veritable giant. Only two places were set at the table, and since he strode to the head, Ruth went to the seat at his left.

“Yes, do not stand on ceremony. Your lateness means the chef has had to set the meal out in advance. It’s only one course, but there are six removes, so we must hope you find it adequate.”

She took her seat and shook the napkin over her lap. Did she help herself as she might at home? Or should she wait? Nervousness assailed her, and annoyance that she should feel so hesitant. Her stomach growled, reminding her she had eaten nothing since breakfast, and that had been a rushed meal because the coach waited for no one.