Tainted by Temptation (2 page)

A steady drip echoed in the room, while outside the pounding of a torrential downpour added its steady drone to the hiss and crackle of the fire. At least he had removed his hands and she could breathe, albeit in pants that did not seem to fill her lungs with enough air.

The silence stretched out, until she poked at it, “Are you Mr. Pendar, then?”

He gave a curt nod. “Bigsby was to meet you at the road, but he mistook the day,” Mr. Pendar said brusquely.

If he meant it by way of apology, he did not sound at all contrite. He sounded angry. Perhaps he was disappointed that such a miserable excuse for a governess showed up on his doorstep.

He paced away from her with a caged energy in his steps. He’d gone from angel to demon in the space of seconds. She wanted to escape, yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him.

He circled around to the fire and leaned down to light a spill. He carried it to a lamp, removed the chimney and lit the wick.

Velvet pushed up to a half-reclined position on the fainting couch. The exertion tired her when it shouldn’t have. She hoped she wasn’t sick. She wasn’t feverish, just weak. “It was not a great distance. I fear I am not a good traveler. If I might be shown to my room to wash up, I’ll be right in a trice.”

“You should take a few days to get well.”

Under no circumstances would she give him the ammunition to dismiss her for dereliction of duty. “I’m anxious to meet my charge and begin our lessons.”

He snorted.

She jerked back. His derision was the last response she expected. Surely he wanted his daughter to begin lessons soon. According to his letter she had been without supervision for months.

Velvet swung her feet to the floor. The room tilted and she leaned forward. Her dress slipped from her shoulder and she grabbed at it. Her chest heaved as she tried to fill her lungs.

“Miss Campbell, lie down.”

“I’m fine.” She hoped she sounded more determined than she felt.

Reaching for the crumpled wet heap of her cloak, she realized the outer of her two dresses was part of the pile. He pushed her back against the curved rest. Her heart jumped into her throat.

“Lie back. That’s an order, Miss Campbell,” he said on a low note. “I have no idea how long you were lying outside in the rain.” He caught her legs at the knee and forced them back on the chaise longue.

Startled by the physicality of his move, she offered no resistance.

He lowered her legs gently and shifted his hands back to her shoulders. Her heart thumped erratically and she stared up at him. His eyes narrowed while his fingers closed around the curve of her upper arms. His thumbs moved in the indentation between her collarbone and neck. Her breath stole out of her.

His face hovered mere inches from hers. Her heart thumped and heat built in the pit of her stomach. Did he mean to kiss her?

For the first time in her life she wanted to yield, to know what a man’s lips on hers felt like. A muscle above his jaw ticked and drew her gaze to the scars.

He may have murdered his wife.

She inhaled deeply.

She had to resist. She had not spent the last few months starving and cold, borrowing and begging, searching for respectable employment, only to now become the fallen woman they said she was.

Pungent silence hung in the air. Pendar stared at Velvet, his dark eyes sharp as daggers. She stared back, refusing to cower, refusing to let him think her submissive and wanting . . . wanting him to take the choice from her, yet terrified he would.

Her gaze lowered to his mouth and her dry lips parted, while she waited for the kisses to be pressed against her cheek when she turned her head. And waited for the groping hands, the assault she would fight. Only she wasn’t sure she would turn away. Her breath quickened. Her body felt loose, no longer in her control.

His upper lip lifted in a sneer and suddenly his mouth seemed cruel.

Her heart pounded and her mouth felt dry. Had he seen her struggle with temptation? She was so tired of resisting, only to have her situation turn worse. She was so tired of being cold and hungry. Would it be so horrible to submit to this man with the face of an angel?

The air sizzled with energy.

The door opened and Mr. Pendar jerked away from her.

The breath she’d been holding blew past her lips. Like a spell had been snapped, shame flooded through her. Oh God, she
was
ill, if she even considered—

“Set the cart by the fire, Mrs. Bigsby,” he said in a rough voice as he walked to the window, then yanked the drapes closed against the premature gloom. “Assist Miss Campbell with the tea and inform her of the household hours.”

He strode across the room and opened the door. “I will see you at dinner, Miss Campbell.”

With that he was gone. Velvet wasn’t at all sure what had happened, but in that moment before Mrs. Bigsby arrived with the tea tray, something had happened. A flash of energy traveled between them and put the heat of the fire to shame. And she didn’t know if she feared him or the turn her life was about to take.

M
rs. Bigsby lumbered across the room, her footfalls heavy against the floor. Her gray hair was scraped back into a wiry knot at the nape of her neck and her homespun apron was not the bright white starched affair that Velvet was used to seeing on domestic help. She looked more like an aging barmaid in a slovenly tavern than an upper servant.

Velvet pushed herself to a sitting position and reached around her neck to fasten the top button of her gown. At least that way it would not fall off. She arranged the coverlet as a shawl, as much to cover the disarray of her dress and corset as anything.

Mrs. Bigsby took it all in, and Velvet knew that things didn’t look good. She hadn’t been in the house more than a few minutes and already she’d been caught in compromising circumstances.

Fighting the dizziness that kept assailing her, she swung her feet to the floor again. As she feared, her half boots left a swipe of brown on the upholstery. Mrs. Bigsby’s lips flattened as she pushed the cart into place.

“How do you take it?” The woman’s voice contained an accusation.

Velvet straightened her spine and assessed the contents of the trolley. “A spot of cream would be heavenly, although I am accustomed to drinking tea without such indulgences. Won’t you join . . . me . . . ?”

Only one cup and saucer were on the tray. A single scone set on a plate. Apparently a governess in this household could be served tea in the drawing room, but other servants were not allowed. Or perhaps it was only a concession for an ill governess.

The cup once filled was shoved in her direction, and a bit slopped into the saucer. Velvet took it with a murmured thanks. “Are you the housekeeper, Mrs. Bigsby?”

The woman gave one short nod.

“I must apologize for the mark on the couch. I would not have put my dirty boots upon it.”

Mrs. Bigsby gave a sniff as she wiped her hands in her apron as if they had become soiled serving tea. “No matter. I’m sure Mr. Pendar would prefer to be rid of it.”

The red tapestry fainting couch was the only stylish piece in a room full of blocky functional sofas and chairs. The navy and green upholstery on the other furniture was faded with bits of stuffing showing through on the corners. Why would he want to be rid of the most modern piece?

Velvet lowered her eyes to the muddy swirl of her tea. She hadn’t been handed a spoon and she didn’t see one on the trolley. She took a sip, wanting to be done. The scalding liquid stopped her from drinking quickly as Mrs. Bigsby stood by, her hands folded under her apron bib.

“We keep country hours, miss. The master dines at five.” Mrs. Bigsby shifted impatiently.

“And does Miss Pendar dine with her father?”

“No. She has her supper in the nursery and then is required to come down to the drawing room from six to seven. Then you will need to put her to bed.”

“She does not have a nursemaid?”

“My daughter, Nellie, but she has other duties in the evenings.” Mrs. Bigby sniffed. “If you need anything after five, you’ll need to fetch it yourself. Most of the staff leaves then.”

“Are there any other members of the household?”

Mrs. Bigsby shook her head.

So she would be dining alone with Mr. Pendar. A shiver coursed down her entire body.

Velvet reached for the scone, but Mrs. Bigsby’s sharp gaze on her made the pastry turn to grit in her mouth. Her stomach protested and she swallowed more tea to force the bite down. She needed to eat in order to regain her strength, but she didn’t feel hungry. She’d stopped feeling hungry a long time ago.

Finishing the tea as quickly as she could, she left the remainder of the scone on the plate. “If you would show me to my room, Mrs. Bigsby, I’d like to get settled.”

“To be sure. This way, Miss Campbell.” Mrs. Bigsby crossed the room, her hands firmly planted under her apron’s bib. She walked past the heap of soggy material on the floor.

Velvet scooped up her soaking cloak and her muddy dress. Her portmanteau was by the door. Closing her eyes, she picked up her bag too. Grateful Mrs. Bigsby was at least holding the door, Velvet breathed in deeply. She still felt shaky and weak, but the tea warmed her belly as she entered the dark passageway.

She couldn’t keep up with Mrs. Bigsby’s march up the staircase. The housekeeper scarcely seemed to notice as she rattled off the members of the staff and the hours of service.

Velvet’s legs quivered in protest as she took each step. Her cloak dragged behind, and she feared that, like a slimy sea creature, she left a damp trail in her wake.

The housekeeper huffed out an impatient breath as Velvet paused at the landing. “It is another flight.”

Velvet didn’t bother answering. She was breathing too hard to form the words. Only the fear that someone would come upon them while the back of her dress was open kept her moving.

Spots danced in front of her eyes as she entered the barren room assigned to every governess. Bare wood floors stretched out before her to a wrought-iron bed positioned near a window overlooking the ocean.

“Got a nice view,” Mrs. Bigsby said. “When the weather is better, you can see all the way down to where the surf breaks on the shore.”

Velvet couldn’t think of anything she wanted to see less. Her chest and lungs spasmed from restrained coughs.

“The schoolroom is through that door, and on the other side is Miss Iris’s room.”

“Where is Miss Iris?” When would she meet her charge?

Mrs. Bigsby shrugged. “She’s about here somewheres.”

Now that Velvet had finally made it to the relative sanctuary of her bedroom, she stepped to the side of the doorway and said, “Thank you, Mrs. Bigsby.”

The housekeeper turned and glared as if she did not relish the idea of being dismissed by a mere governess.

Velvet just wanted to collapse and regroup, but she stood with her back to the wall, holding her cloak, dress, and valise.

“This is a godly household, Miss Campbell,” said the housekeeper.

Her hackles rising, Velvet looked directly at the older woman. “Then I shall feel quite at home here, won’t I? My father was a reverend.”

Had her reputation preceded her? Or was the older woman assuming too much because she found the new governess with her dress unfastened alone with the master within minutes of reaching the house? With Mr. Pendar leaning over her as she reclined on a decadently soft chaise longue, it had to have looked bad.

Mrs. Bigsby brushed past her with a sniff. The door clicked behind her with a distinctive air of disapproval.

Velvet let her portmanteau fall to the floor. Her arm suddenly felt light enough to float.

She sighed. The room had a moldy unused smell to it, but it was nearly thrice the size of the room she had rented in a squalid London neighborhood. She shivered as she crossed the floor to drape her wet cloak and dress over the solitary hard chair.

Averting her eyes from the view, she crossed to the washstand with its pitcher and bowl. Her reflection in the cloudy mirror made her start. She looked like a wild creature, her hair half pinned, half hanging down. Her eyes appeared huge in her ghostly white face.

She needed to put herself to rights before supper. She removed her remaining dress. The loosened corset fell to the floor and she stepped out of it, while removing the extra shifts and petticoats she wore. Stripped to her drawers and chemise, she shivered in the chilly room.

The door banged open and Velvet whirled around, grabbing her discarded shift to her chest. Her gaze caught the chair across the room where her dress and cloak were draped. She should have shoved the chair under the door handle.

Iris Pendar lifted the cloth covering a ball of dough on the wooden kitchen table.

“You leave that alone, miss. It needs to rest now.” Cook stirred a pot of fish soup on the stove.

Iris plunked down on a stool. Sometimes Cook let her kneed the dough or would give her beans to snap, but it was too close to dinnertime for Cook to welcome her in the kitchen. But Iris had seen her new governess weaving up the lane, and if she didn’t share the information, she might explode. “My governess arrived.”

“Yes she did,” Cook said, taking away Iris’s joy at breaking the news. “You should run along now and wash up. I’ll be sending your supper tray up soon.”

“I’m to eat here in the kitchen.”

Cook swiped at her sweating brow with the corner of her apron. “Where’s Nellie?”

“She had to fetch coal because Meg left early. Meg said she didn’t
relish
the idea of walking home in the rain.” Iris stressed the unfamiliar word. “What does relish mean?”

“I reckon you can ask your new governess that,” Cook muttered as she slapped a fish on a cutting board, then sliced a knife down the belly.

“I don’t know. She might be as bad as Miss Grimes.”

Cook paused with her fingers full of bloody fish guts and looked across the wooden table. When she smiled, her eyes would practically disappear behind the fleshy mounds of her cheeks, like raisins in a hot cross bun, but she wasn’t smiling now.

Iris rushed to fill the void. She dreaded lessons with the new governess, but if she was like Miss Grimes and slept through the hours in the schoolroom, she might be better than the next woman her father managed to hire. Or he might carry through on his threat to send her off to school. “She’s very pretty, though. She has hair the color of that pot.” Iris pointed to a shiny copper kettle hanging on the rack.

“How very fanciful you are, Miss Iris.” Cook resumed gutting and deboning the fish.

Feeling disloyal, Iris added, “She’s not as pretty as Mama was, though.”

“Mmm,” answered Cook.

Her mama had been a true beauty. Everyone said so. Miss Grimes hadn’t been pretty at all. Three teeth on the one side of her mouth were missing, and all her front teeth had shifted over so her mouth looked crooked. Even so, she still had a hard time closing her lips. Her mousy hair had always been slipping down in lank strands.

Miss Campbell’s hair had been falling down but was as shiny and sparkly as if fire fairies liked to play in it.

Iris reached under the cloth, pinched off a bit of the dough and slipped it in her mouth while Cook tossed the fish guts and bones in a slop pail.

As Iris let the yeasty dough melt in her mouth, she looked around at the extra serving dishes lined up on the table. Cook was preparing a company dinner.

“Meg shouldn’t have left early on a day when new help arrives,” muttered the cook.

Iris had told Meg the storm clouds gathering on the horizon looked bad. She’d only had to shake her head and add that the governess’s room hadn’t been thoroughly cleaned in a long time before Meg started fretting about walking home in the rain.

Iris had asked Nellie every day if it was the day her new governess was to arrive, so they’d both known the day, even if it seemed no one else paid it any mind. She had spent the morning watching the road for the mail coach. When it finally rounded the bend near the cliffs, she had run to the entry hall where she could look out on the drive.

She’d seen the new governess stumbling, in much the same way as Miss Grimes would stumble after she finished the bottles she walked to town to buy. Then Miss Grimes hadn’t had enough money and started pinching this and that to pay for her bottles.

After the new governess drew close, Iris had waited and waited on the stairs, staring at the front door. Finally, she peeked outside to see Miss Campbell lying at the foot of the stairs. Miss Grimes had fallen asleep in strange places, but never in the pouring rain.

Iris had dared to run to her father’s office to tell him. For once he hadn’t given her that look that said she shouldn’t have interrupted him. But then he hadn’t looked at her long at all before he ran to the front door.

Pinching off another piece of dough, Iris speculated, “Maybe she’ll teach me to play the harp like Mama did.”

“I think your papa would prefer you learn your schoolwork,” said Cook.

Iris curled her nose. Mama had told her she only needed to learn to sew and play the pianoforte and know how to make a comfortable home for a future husband. Being pretty would be enough to attract suitors. “She might not last anyway. She might be sick. Papa had to carry her inside. He carried her all the way up the stairs to the drawing room.”

“So I heard,” said Cook.

“He had me help unfasten her dress.”

Cook gave her a sharp look.

Not quite understanding why, she added, “He said her corset was too tight. ‘That makes foolish vain women faint.’ ” He’d also said he didn’t need another woman dying on him.

Iris had been thrilled to be asked to help her father, but she’d quickly been sent to fetch Mrs. Bigsby. She found Mr. Bigsby first and sent him.

“I don’t think she’ll stay long. She’s too pretty,” said Iris. The governess before Miss Grimes had only stayed two weeks, and the one before that only a few months. Miss Grimes had made it near a year. Miss Grimes would rap her on the knuckles with a stick every now and then upon discovering mistakes or missing assignments. But though Grimes was harsh at times, the torture of the schoolroom had been sparse. Perhaps Iris could persuade her new governess to avoid lessons. If she set her mind to it, she could avoid lots of things.

A woman lugging a coal pail entered the room. Velvet put her hand over her fluttering heart. She had half expected to find Mr. Pendar at the door.

Instead the woman was a more angular, younger version of Mrs. Bigsby. Without saying a word, she lugged the coal to the fireplace.

“You must be Nellie,” said Velvet. Was she to be ostracized before the staff even got to know her?

The woman grunted. Velvet turned to pour water from the pitcher into the bowl but found a layer of dust on both of them. “May I have some water?”

The woman turned and stared through her with vacant eyes. “There is a water closet on the floor below.”

So there was running water in the house. Velvet hadn’t been sure there would be, as the house was so far removed from any city. She lifted the thick pitcher from the bowl and carried it across the floor to where the maid knelt in front of the fireplace. “Would you be so kind as to fill this for me?”