Lady Drusilla's Road to Ruin. Christine Merrill
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was in no position to make enemies. ‘Thank you,’ she said as mildly as possible.
He frowned for a moment, as though trying to remember something, then added, ‘Did I mention earlier that I am currently without a position?’
‘No, you did not.’ Although why it should matter, she had no idea.
‘Then, my lady, I see a solution to both our problems.’ His previous insolence evaporated in a single sentence. In its place was a natural deference, with no hint of the obsequious servility she’d seen in some servants. ‘I have some experience in dealing with situations rather like yours. Until several days ago, I was personal secretary to the Earl of Folbroke.’
That would explain it, then. He wasn’t a preacher or a teacher. He had been a confidential employee of a peer. ‘And under what circumstances did you leave this position?’ she asked, trying to decide where the conversation was likely to lead them.
‘Nothing that would prevent him from giving a positive reference, were he here now.’
Drusilla was glad he was not. The room was hardly big enough for the two of them, without adding former employers into the mix.
‘I have letters to that effect,’ Mr Hendricks said.
‘Which are?’
‘In London.’
‘I see.’
He removed his spectacles to polish them before continuing. ‘But that job gave me experience in dealing with the sort of delicate situations that sometimes occur in families such as yours.’
Utterly mad ones, you mean. The way he’d been raving before, she was sure that he had interesting stories to tell, were he the sort of man to share confidences about his employers. Which he was not.
‘Handling matters with discretion is a personal strong point of mine,’ he confirmed, as though reading her mind. ‘And if you could ensure me of repayment when we return to London, a bit more for my troubles, and perhaps a letter of reference?’
‘More than that. My father will write the letter himself. And he will see to it that you are generously rewarded at the end of the affair.’
Behind his glasses, Mr Hendricks’s amber eyes glittered. References from an earl were no small thing. But if he could win the favour of a duke, he would be seen as nearly invaluable by his next employer.
‘The Duke of Benbridge will be most grateful to hear that the matter was handled with discretion.’ After he got used to the idea, at any rate.
‘He will not mind that you are travelling alone?’ Hendricks asked, searching for a flaw in her story.
Her father would be livid when he learned that Priss had run, and even angrier to know that Dru had not caught her before she’d left the house. In comparison to that, travelling alone or hiring a stranger would be as nothing. ‘He will not be happy,’ she admitted. ‘But it is not as if I am the one eloping with Mr Gervaise. I am trying to prevent his elopement … with another.’ If it was possible, she would keep Priss out of the story a while longer. If Hendricks knew of her father, then it was possible he’d heard gossip of Benbridge’s wilful younger daughter and would realise that the girl might need to be dragged kicking and screaming back home. ‘Just a trip to Scotland and back. It will be very little trouble at all.’ At least Drusilla meant to be no trouble. Her sister was likely to be trouble enough for two people. ‘Once I find the couple, I will be able to handle the rest of it. But if you could clear the way for me, paying bills, handling luggage and protecting me from men such as our companion?’
‘And keep my mouth shut at the end of it?’ For a moment, the candid Mr Hendricks had returned and was grinning at her.
She returned a small, polite smile. ‘Precisely.’
‘Very well, then. I am at your disposal.’ He offered his hand to her. She accepted it and was given a manly shake. His palm was warm and dry against hers and the feeling of carefully contained power in his arm gave her a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach.
When he released her hand, he had an odd look on his face, as though he’d felt something as well. Perhaps it had to do with the quality of the cooking, for they had shared the same food.
And now they shared a room.
Her stomach gave the same little flip. It was probably nothing more than nerves. Because Mr Hendricks showed no signs of quitting the place and leaving her in privacy. To speed him on his way, she asked, ‘And this evening?’ She glanced around the room, and then significantly at the door. ‘Where do you intend to sleep?’
‘Right here, of course.’
‘You most certainly will not—’
He cut her off before she could object and the firmness returned to his voice. ‘There was nothing in the agreement we have made that would lead me to believe I must sleep in the stable.’
‘Nor was there anything about it that implied that I wish to share a room with you.’
‘The implication was tacit,’ he said. ‘If not, you could have announced in the tavern that our relationship was an illusion.’
‘I never expected things to progress as quickly as they did,’ she said. ‘Nor did I expect you to be stubborn on the point.’
‘I see,’ he said. ‘You think my wishing to sleep in a bed when one presents itself is a sign of stubbornness and not common sense.’
‘I expect you to behave as a gentleman,’ she said. ‘And as one who is in my employ.’
‘It is late. And it is not in my ability to aid you until the morning,’ he said. ‘My service to you will begin at first light. I expect, at that time, that I will need all my wits to keep ahead of you. And for that, I will need adequate sleep. If you were seeking a dogsbody who would lie in the hall just to ensure your modesty, then you must seek him elsewhere. In my last position, I was treated almost as a member of the family and well paid.’
‘And yet you left it,’ she pointed out and saw the tiny twitch of his eye at her reminder.
‘But even dead drunk, I had the sense to leave London with enough money for accommodations,’ he countered. ‘You did not. I have paid for this room and mean to stay in it.’ He smiled benevolently. ‘Since you are my employer, I will hardly deny you the space, if you wish to remain with me.’
Perfectly true and annoyingly rational. ‘Then it is I who must sleep in the stable,’ she said, doing her best to look pathetic and elicit his sympathy.
‘Or on the floor,’ he offered. ‘Although it does not look very comfortable. Or you can take your half of the mattress, if you will leave me in peace.’
‘If I leave you in peace?’ she said, outraged.
‘I have no intention of accosting you in the night, nor do I mean to tell anyone of the close quarters,’ he said. ‘I know my own nature and feel quite able to resist your charms.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, a little annoyed that at the first sign of conflict she had gone back to being her easily resistible self.
He glanced at her, as though speculating. ‘But I cannot vouch for your motives. In our first meeting, you were the aggressor. For all I know, you are the sort of woman who forces herself on to unwary travellers and robs them of their purses, or murders them in their beds.’
‘How dare you.’
Then she saw the twinkle in his eye. ‘I am properly convinced. Only a lady of the bluest blood can raise that level of outrage over so small a jest. Your honour is safe from me. And as for my honour?’ He shrugged. ‘I doubt you would know what to do with it, should you find it.’ He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots, then stripped off his coat and waistcoat and loosened his cravat.
There was no reason that his words should hurt