From Waif To Gentleman's Wife. Julia Justiss
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of her charms, should she respond to his lures.
Impatiently he dismissed that weakness. Upon occasion he’d taken his ease with ladies of the profession, but he’d never set up a mistress, being neither venal enough to corrupt an innocent, rich enough to tempt the discriminating palate of a courtesan or willing to settle for a woman of broad experience. Though he didn’t insist on planting his seed in virgin soil, neither did he wish to farm for any length of time what had previously been common ground.
Indeed, he’d always hoped—although as yet that desire had not come to fruition—that eventually he might permanently sate all his carnal desires in a wife’s embrace. Though after his most recent foray into the briar-filled field of courtship, he intended to stick to husbandry of the agricultural sort for the foreseeable future!
Even so, he had to shut his ears to the wheedling argument that said if she were of easy virtue, there was no harm in taking her for a quick tumble before he sent her on her way.
Since Mrs Merrill was obviously still lost in thought about her future, he might as well make a move immediately and determine it for them both. Another guilty little thrill zipped through him, settling into a hardness in his loins.
But how did one lead a lady astray? He’d never in his life played the rake and wasn’t sure he could pull off the role. Though fortunately for his purpose, he had no need to feign his desire for her.
When he did advance, would she offer him her lips—or slap his face?
Chapter Five
If she studied her hands long enough, perhaps this whole nightmare would go away. Too exhausted last night to do more than gobble down some soup and fall into the bed to which the distinctly disapproving housekeeper had led her, Joanna had awakened rested and buoyed by a sense of optimism that somehow, things would work out for the best.
Having just related to Mr Greaves the whole tawdry tale of how she’d come to appear on his doorstep, however, brought back to mind just how deplorable her situation was.
Did he even believe her? Arriving as she had, she could hardly blame him if, like the innkeeper in Hazelwick, he thought her a woman of loose morals, her protestations of innocence in the matter of Lord Masters entirely false.
Still, though he’d been understandably annoyed when she stormed into his room last night, dripping mud all over his Turkey carpet, he’d nonetheless treated her as if she were in fact Greville’s sister, entitled to the respect due a gentlewoman.
Except … she had caught him inspecting her, a gleam of appreciation in his eyes. Oddly enough, despite her recent experience, knowing he found her attractive had not made her uncomfortable or uneasy. Unlike Lord Master’s slack-jawed ogling, Mr Greaves’s heated yet respectful scrutiny had sent a little tingle of anticipation through her, reminding her as it had of the desire she’d read in Thomas’s expression while they’d been courting.
Mr Greaves was worthy of appreciative glances himself. She’d been too distressed last night to fully notice, but this morning at breakfast she’d been immediately struck by what a tall, broad-shouldered figure of a man he was. Though emanating an aura of power and authority—useful qualities in an estate agent, she presumed—he didn’t seem overbearing or arrogant. His manners were impeccable; he’d waited until she’d taken her seat, her plate filled, before beginning on his own meal, watching to make sure her coffee cup was kept full.
Even Papa had not been that solicitous.
A little smile played at her lips. He was certainly handsomer than Papa! Thick, wavy dark hair, one lock of which insisted on curling over his brow no matter how many times he raked it back with his fingers. Honey-brown eyes that watched her intently as he listened. A noble nose and those finely chiseled lips …
She had a sudden vision of that mouth slanted over hers and a heated bolt of sensation sizzled through her.
Goodness! she thought, shocked and suddenly overwarm. She’d not experienced such a powerful physical response since leaving Thomas in India. Were Mr Greaves privy to her thoughts just now, he’d believe her wanton for sure.
Clutching her fingers more tightly together, she put her mind back to trying to decide what to do next. Oh, that she might throw herself on Mr Greaves’s mercy, lay her problem at his feet and appeal for his help in coming up with a solution to her dilemma!
But, of course, that was impossible. He was merely a kind but chance-met stranger who happened to be inhabiting the house Greville had vacated.
Why had Greville been summarily discharged? she wondered suddenly. The manor house, she’d noticed since rising this morning, was beautifully managed, the servants skilled and respectful, the house itself gleaming with polish and paint, furniture and curtains well made and of fine quality. By Mr Greaves’s own account, he was but recently come to Blenhem Hill, so its excellent condition must be attributed to Greville’s management.
Was Lord Englemere capricious, carelessly discharging her brother on a whim, as thoughtless of the well-being of those beneath him as Lord Masters? It certainly appeared that Greville had been turned off in almost as much unseemly haste as she had been harried out of Selbourne Abbey.
Maybe those upstart colonials in the New World had been right to throw off rule by privilege.
But the character of Lord Englemere wasn’t her most immediate concern. Damping down her indignation on her own and her brother’s behalf, Joanna had turned her mind once again to unearthing a solution to her present dilemma when she glanced up to see Mr Greaves quietly watching her.
Heavens, what an ill-bred savage he must think her! Feeling the flush rise on her face, she said hastily, ‘Excuse me, sir! How impolite of me to sit here wool-gathering. But you mustn’t think I mean to burden you with my problems. Thanks to your kind hospitality, I’m well nourished and rested, and as soon as the remainder of my garments are dry enough to pack, I shall be on my way.’
‘Where do you mean to go?’ And how? the slight rise of his eyebrows said. Since she’d been honest about her current circumstances, he must know she had no money.
‘To London, I suppose. ‘Tis the easiest route by post and, once there, I may be able to discover Greville’s whereabouts from Papa’s solicitor.’ Which would be an excellent plan, if she but possessed the funds to travel there and maintain herself once she arrived.
He nodded. ‘Why not join me in the estate office? Perhaps in the account books your brother may have left some hint of where he meant to go when he left Blenhem.’
Her spirits leapt at that ray of hope. ‘I hadn’t considered that! If you would not mind, I should be very grateful for the opportunity to look through them.’
They rose and he led her to the estate office, pulled a chair up to his desk, and set the ledgers before her.
But as she flipped through page after page of Greville’s nearly illegible scrawl, her sparkle of excitement dimmed. Hanging on to her last hope, she kept at it, inspecting every entry, but when she arrived at the last page of the last book, she knew no more about her brother’s probable whereabouts than she had when they’d entered the room.
She struggled to keep despair from swamping her. Forcing a smile, she said, ‘Well, it was worth trying. Thank you for allowing me to make the attempt. I suppose I should get to that packing now.’
On numb feet, she rose to drag the chair back, trying to keep her fingers from shaking. Preoccupied with combating the fear and dismay clawing its way into her gut, she only dimly heard Mr Greaves offer his assistance before he took the chair’s heavier side and walked with her to set it in position by the window.
What am I to do now? she asked herself over and over, her mind running back and forth like a mouse cornered by a cat … life being the cat that was about to devour this mouse, she thought, swallowing an hysterical giggle.
She could apply for work at the posting inn, though the chances that they would take her on weren’t