Guilty Series (33 page)

“You are going to pay me just for listening?” she repeated with skepticism, remembering the night before. Talking with her was not the only thing he wanted to do.

“Just for listening. I give you my word.” He shoved a wet strand of hair out of his face and glanced at the shabbiness around him. “A fiver would go a long way in this neighborhood.”

That was an unarguable point, and it seemed like an answer to her prayers. Five pounds would pay all that she owed her landlady and give her enough extra for some decent food. Besides, the cold wind was slicing through her wet clothes, and her teeth were beginning to chatter. She capitulated. “Very well,” she agreed and pushed the key into the lock.

Moore followed her into the foyer of the lodging house and closed the door behind them as she started toward the stairs. Over her shoulder, she whispered, “I shall give you fifteen minutes.”

He laughed out loud, and she turned around, pressing her hand to his mouth in a frantic effort to quiet him. “Hush,” she said with an apprehensive glance down the corridor that led to Mrs. Abbott's drawing room.

“I'm not sure fifteen minutes is worth five pounds,” he murmured against her palm, his laughter still evident in the black eyes that looked into hers over the hand against his mouth.

His voice made the idea of listening to his offer sound illicit in itself, and his lips were warm against her skin. She jerked her hand back, then turned it palm-up with a pointed look at him.

He pulled a flat money purse of black leather from a pocket inside his cloak, but before he could open it, they were interrupted.

“Evening, missus.”

Grace grimaced at the vinegar-voiced greeting and turned around as the short, steel-haired landlady emerged from the corridor.

Mrs. Abbott glanced at Dylan, who returned her scrutiny with careless amusement. She took a long, shrewd look at the money purse in his hand, then she ran her gaze up and down his tall form, studying his expensive, well-cut clothes and finely tooled boots, and she did not seem to mind that he was dripping water all over her floor.

After a moment, she returned her attention to Grace, and when she spoke, her voice was still briskly businesslike, but there was a hint of conciliation in it as well. “You know the rules, ma'am. No gentlemen in the rooms. And with the money you still owe me, plus this week's lodgings yet to pay, I can't be making an exception for you, can I, now?”

Even as she asked the question, Mrs. Abbott slid Dylan a sly glance. Grace opened her mouth to speak, but before she could do so, Moore was pulling out a five-pound note.

“I fully comprehend your dilemma, my good woman,” he said, holding out the money to her. “This will overcome all your objections, I imagine.”

Grace watched in dismay as Mrs. Abbott snatched the fiver Moore had promised her from his hand before she could say a word of protest. “Indeed it does, sir,” the landlady assured him, her manner becoming solicitous.

“No, wait!” Grace cried, her heart sinking. “It is not at all what you think. This man is not—”

“Good,” Dylan cut her off as he spoke to the landlady and tucked his money purse back inside his cloak. “This lady's debt to you is now discharged, and her rent paid through the week. You may keep the rest for yourself, provided I am allowed to come and go from here as I please.”

Grace made a sound of outrage. She was ignored as Dylan and Mrs. Abbott exchanged glances. “We understand each other, do we not?” he asked the landlady.

“Yes, indeed. Would you be needing anything in the morning, sir? Hot water, of course, and tea. Would you care for breakfast? I can bring up hot, buttered toast. Bacon and kidneys, too, if you like.”

Dylan glanced at Grace, casting a look over her form. He clearly found her in need of feeding, for he turned back to Mrs. Abbott. “Nothing for me, but you may bring a full breakfast for her tomorrow, if you would. Whatever she wants.” He smiled at the woman. “I like to make her happy.”

Mrs. Abbott smiled back. “I understand, sir.”

“Excellent,” Dylan said. “Now leave us.”

The smirk on the landlady's face remained as she curtsied, and Grace burned with humiliation. “Now look what you have done!” she cried the moment the landlady was out of sight, wanting to smash an orange over his head.

“I paid her because it was expedient. Nothing more. Why do you care what she thinks?”

“Because now she'll be thinking I'm available for any man she wants to send to my room,” Grace shot back, nauseated by the thought. “As long as she gets a share of it.”

“No, she won't. Not now.”

“Why? Because you paid her three pounds more than I owed her so that you may come and go as you please? You had no right to do that, and I still expect to be paid that other three pounds.”

He made a sound of impatience. “Which room is yours? I will not stay down here and have your salacious landlady listening to our conversation.”

“If she is salacious, that is your fault. Thanks to you, she thinks I am a prostitute!”

“No, she thinks you are a kept woman.”

Grace gave a humorless laugh. “And there is a difference?”

“Most certainly. Kept women are more expensive. They are also exclusive. Since you are being kept by me, you are safe from any other gentlemen callers your landlady might send your way, for the time being at least. Give me your key.”

He was right, of course. Grace handed over her key. “Top floor. And I am not being kept by you. Nor shall I be.”

Moore did not reply. He ascended the stairs with her in tow until they reached her tiny room at the top. He unlocked the door, and both of them stepped inside her room. He closed the door behind them and turned the bolt, then handed the key back to her. “There, now we may have some privacy.”

Since that was just what made her wary, she did not take her gaze from him as she set her basket on the wooden seat of the room's only chair, a ladder-back, ramshackle piece with peeling paint beside the door. She hung her cloak from a hook on the wall and put her key in the pocket of her skirt.

He removed his own wet cloak and tossed it over her orange basket. He removed his gloves as he took a look at his surroundings, at the beamed attic ceiling above his head and the spare, dilapidated furnishings, including the narrow bed under the window, with its rusting iron frame and thin straw mattress.

He dropped the gloves on top of his cloak, then removed his coat. He tugged at his cravat, untying it, and reached for the top button of his shirt.

“You presume I have accepted your illicit proposal, even before you make it!” Grace cried. “I never had any intention of accepting it. Get out.”

“I presume nothing,” he answered, ignoring her order to leave. “Grace, you have no idea how irritating a high collar and cravat can be when they are soaking wet. Since I paid for this time, I intend to be comfortable during it. That is all.” He unfastened the other two buttons of his shirt, smoothed his waistcoat, and straightened his cuffs. “Perhaps we should sit down?”

“When my bed is the only seat in the room? I think not.”

He shrugged and stepped around her. “Stand if you like, but I have had no sleep for two days, and I intend to sit down.”

Tense and wary, she watched as he suited the action to the word, and her growing apprehension must have shown in her face, for something almost gentle came into his handsome, ravaged countenance. “Grace, I gave you my word.”

She flattened back against the door. “Get to the point.”

He settled back on the bed, resting his weight on his arms, and he said the last thing in the world she would have expected. “What do you know about being a governess?”

G
race stared at the disreputable man sprawled back on her bed. “A governess?”

“Yes, to my daughter.” He gave her a wry look. “You seem surprised. Expecting an offer of a different sort, were you?”

“If I did, you could hardly blame me for it. Do you really have a daughter?”

“Yes. Isabel is eight years old.”

“But—” She broke off and gave a half-laugh. It was so ludicrous, especially given what offer she had been expecting. “You know nothing about me, yet you would entrust me with your child?”

“You saved my life, so the least I can do is rescue you from destitution. The musicians I interviewed who knew you all gave the highest opinion of your character.”

“But how do you know I am qualified to be a governess?”

“I know you play the violin, so you probably had music tutors. You read sheet music. You told me that you saw me conduct at a concert in Salzburg. Though you have worked as a charwoman and now sell oranges on the street, I doubt your circumstances have always been as dire as they are now. I can discern from the way you move, the way you walk, and the way you talk that you are a woman of the gentry. From Cornwall. I can hear it in your accent. You had a governess yourself as a girl, I should think.”

Grace listened to these conclusions about herself, all of which were true. It was a bit disconcerting to know that a man, especially this man, should be able to draw such an accurate assessment of her. “I did not know I was so easy to read.”

“Not that easy. I am a man who pays attention.”

“To women. Yes, I am aware of that.” She could not help being curious about his situation with his daughter, and she asked, “Does it not usually fall to a child's mother to hire a governess?”

His expression did not change. “Isabel's mother is dead.”

“Surely you could find a qualified governess amongst your acquaintance, or hire one from an agency. Why offer the post to me?”

“Because I want to.”

“I daresay that is always a good enough reason for you.”

That made him smile. It was a smile of wicked humor and thoroughly dishonorable intentions.

Grace had seen the world; she'd been married to a passionate, worldly man. She knew everything there was to know about physical love between a man and a woman, but for some inexplicable reason, Dylan Moore's smile made her blush.
Heavens,
she thought with dismay,
I haven't blushed since I was a green girl.
“Governess, my eye,” she muttered.

He moved, stretching out along the length of her bed, resting his weight on his elbow and his cheek in his hand. With that disheveled hair all around his shoulders and the evening shadow of a beard on his face, with those enigmatic dark eyes and their opulent black lashes, with that smile, he looked every bit the hedonistic devil described in the scandal sheets. And he knew it. The man had no shame.

“Grace.” He said her name soft and low, as if testing the sound of it on his tongue. It was as lush as a caress. She felt her blush deepening, her tenseness easing into something else. As unexpectedly as last night, heat stirred inside her.

“I am a virtuous woman,” she blurted out without thinking.

He didn't blink an eye. “I never said you weren't.”

Grace folded her arms and took a deep, steadying breath, wanting to bite her tongue off for saying what should never have to be said. “If I agree to be your daughter's governess, what wages are you offering?”

That smile vanished, much to her relief. He sat up straight on the bed. “Before we discuss it, I must tell you there is a catch. In addition to your duties with Isabel, there is something else I demand in return for what I will pay you.”

Her reply was a cynical twist of her lips. “Mm—hmm.”

“This is only employment at will from my point of view. Meaning I can sack you if I wish, but you will not be free to resign.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That is not employment. It is slavery.”

She watched as he glanced around her little attic room. Observant devil that he was, Grace knew that nothing about its shabbiness would escape his notice. He was seeing the two worn dresses hanging from hooks on the wall—the only two dresses she owned other than the ugly green plaid on her back. He was noticing the small amount of coal left in the bin beside the fireplace. He was feeling the cheapness of the mattress and threadbare blanket beneath his body, remembering her inability to pay her rent.

He was pointing out the obvious without saying a word, but no matter what he was offering, she would not agree to be dependent upon his whim for her survival. “I will not consent to anything of the sort without a time limitation.”

“Very well.” He looked at her for a moment, then he said, “One year. At that time, I shall pay you the full wages I owe you, whatever we agree them to be. You get nothing until then, for I will not have you get a month or two of sterling in your pocket and leave me.”

“Why? Are…umm…governesses in such short supply these days?”

“Suffice it to say, when I am paying for things, I like them my way.”

Grace didn't want to dance around the issue. If he was making an honorable offer, she would accept it. If not, she would write to her brother. “What do you believe you will be paying for?”

“A governess.” When she did not reply, he went on, “Since you seem to wish for plain speaking, I will confess I came here with a different offer in mind, but you are clearly not amenable to the idea of being my mistress.” His smile became winsome, meant to sweeten. “I give you fair warning that I am going to attempt to change your mind on that score, but in the interim, I am offering you a post as governess to my daughter instead.”

“I see. At least you are honest. If you make these attempts to change my mind, as you put it, and I continue to refuse you, what then?”

“Then you refuse.” His dark eyes narrowed a bit. “I won't force you, if that is what you fear.”

He certainly hadn't needed to force her last night, she thought with chagrin. “Why me?” she asked. “A man like you has no trouble finding a mistress.”