Compromising Miss Milton
Autor
Michelle Styles
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Chapter One
July 1837—Gilsland, Cumberland
The carriage’s abrupt stop jolted Adam Ravensworth, the third Viscount Ravensworth, from a fitful sleep, and sent his cane clattering to the floor of the carriage. Adam gripped the horsehair seat with his long fingers, narrowly preventing his body from tumbling after it.
‘In the name of all that is holy, what sort of driving is that? You are paid to avoid potholes, not drive through them!’ Adam banged on the roof.
Silence filled the unmoving carriage, only to be broken by the tramp of heavy feet and muffled voices. Adam froze, listening. Not poor driving but something far more sinister.
With a practised hand, he reached towards where his pistol was stored and encountered—air. A loud oath dropped from his lips.
Adam forced the remains of sleep from his mind. The pistol was there. It had to be. He had carefully placed it alongside the necklace before they had left the coaching inn this morning, an integral part of his ritual. His hand groped for the ruby necklace. His shoulders relaxed slightly. That at least was there.
Adam reached out again, fumbling in the dark with the latch of a hidden compartment, but despite his frantic groping the space and indeed the carriage remained empty of all weapons. Gone. Vanished.
What else had they done? And when? The fog of sleep clawed at his mind, making it difficult to think. Adam shook his head, noting the vile taste in his mouth. Drugged. He swore at his own stupidity. Meticulous planning had gone into this unscheduled stop, but this was where it would end. It would not reach the desired conclusion. He would see to it. Personally.
‘Down from the carriage!’
‘Here, what is this all about?’ His new driver Hawkins’s protest was a heartbeat too slow, too certain.
‘We mean business. Stand aside.’
A single shot rang out.
Adam grabbed the ruby necklace and slipped it into the waistband of his trousers. Everything else was replaceable, but not the necklace—his talisman, a reminder of who he was and what he had done. If he lost the necklace, he might as well be dead.
‘Step out, my lord,’ Hawkins said.
Adam’s neck muscles relaxed slightly. Hawkins lived. But how loyal was he? His words held the barest veneer of civility.
Rapidly Adam searched on the floor for the pistol, hoping that in some mad moment of sleep, he had dislodged the weapon. Nothing. His hand closed about his cane, a weapon of sorts, something to even the odds.
‘Get out, I say!’ The door rattled again and Hawkins’s voice became harsher. ‘Get out or I will drag your lordship’s carcass from the coach.’
‘When I am ready.’
Adam tugged at the sleeves of his frock coat and straightened his stock. He tucked his cane under his arm and knew he looked the perfect gentleman, perhaps a bit foppish and overly concerned with clothes, but not someone who waited for an opportunity to strike.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped out into the night and surveyed the scene, weighing his options. Seven men, far too many to fight and have a hope of success. Whoever had planned this had left nothing to chance, but someone always made a mistake.
The leader snapped his fingers and Hawkins plucked the cane from Adam’s hand. ‘Sorry, my lord. The cane is required. We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.’
‘Is there some problem, Hawkins?’ Adam kept his voice calm and unhurried, the epitome of an aristocrat who frequented the environs of St James’s. ‘Why have you stopped the coach? I need to get to Newcastle to catch the packet to London. The Atheneaum’s annual election waits for no man.’
‘Outlaws. Road was blocked ahead and I slowed. These men grabbed the horses’ heads.’ Hawkins shifted from foot to foot as the lantern cast strange elongated shadows. The cane with its hidden sword was now clasped lightly in Hawkins’s unsuspecting hand. ‘It weren’t my fault. Not expecting it, like. There was nothing I could do. Honest my lord.’
‘Join me, Hawkins.’ Adam held out his hand, and willed the driver to place the cane into his palm. ‘It is not too late. I will save you, Hawkins.’
Hawkins took a step backwards, shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry my lord. They…they threatened…my wife and child.’
‘Indeed? And here I thought you a single man without a relation in the world.’ Adam lowered his voice. ‘How much did they pay you, Hawkins? How did they get you—drink, gaming or was it opium? Did you think about your wife or child, then?’
Hawkins raised the cane, but Adam caught it before the first blow fell and pulled Hawkins towards him.
‘Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been enough.’ Adam saw the man’s face contort with uncertainty and fear.
‘Leave Lord Ravensworth to me. I have waited a lifetime for this moment.’ The leader’s muffled voice rang out again. ‘Back to your place. And this time take his cane out of his reach.’
The driver yanked the cane away and turned on his heel.
Another wave of drug-induced tiredness attacked Adam. He fought against it, struggling to stay upright. Survival first. Retribution later.
‘You have something we want. Something you stole.’ The leader’s voice was rough, but held a tone that Adam’s brain faintly recognised. ‘A treasure beyond reckoning. Give it here.’
He lifted his hand and Adam saw the tattoo of a blackbird between the man’s thumb and forefinger. The ground shifted beneath Adam’s feet. He knew the tattoo. Once it had had a meaning, but that was more than a continent and half-a-dozen years away. The gang of particularly murderous thieves who sported the tattoo and who preyed on innocent travellers were dead. The last ones had danced from the end of a noose after he had testified in Bombay.
‘You are making a serious error,’ Adam said. ‘I have no idea what you mean.’
‘Wrong answer.’ A blow struck the side of his head, sending him staggering towards the dark edges of his mind. ‘A rich nabob like you. You brought the treasure from India. You thought yourself beyond the curse. It has taken us a long time, but the goddess will be satisfied once we have tasted your blood.’
Adam put his hands on his knees and attempted to breathe. Ghosts did not possess cudgels and curses were for the weak-minded. These men were flesh and blood, but who? And why now? When had the tattoo been revived?
Another blow rained down on his back and shoulders—heavier, harder. He stumbled and fell, lay still, then waited. A tiny portion of his mind told him to offer up a prayer for help, but any higher being that existed had forsaken him after India. He knew that.
‘Here, you’ll kill him. They never said nothing about killing. That’s murder, like!’ Hawkins squawked.
‘It’s a dirty business. You knew that.’
‘It is not here,’ a voice called out
‘Search the carriage again!’
‘What about him?’
‘Him?’ A contemptuous kick landed on Adam’s back. ‘He will be dead before sunlight. Did you see him stagger as he came out? They did their work at the inn.’
‘You will get what you deserve,’ Adam muttered under his breath, but he kept his body still and his face in the mud, waiting.
‘I’ll check his person.’
‘It won’t be there. It will be in the coach. He didn’t have time, like,’ Hawkins protested. ‘He always takes the necklace when he travels. He has a special compartment for it, see. He didn’t have the time or the wit to get it.’
‘Just the same.’ Hands tore at his coat, ripping it from his back.
‘That was a mistake. My tailor hasn’t even sent the bill yet,’ Adam said as he flipped over and brought his boots up into his attacker’s chest and kicked hard.
The man flew backwards, colliding with another.
Adam crouched for a heartbeat and then began to run. Behind him, he heard the screech of the men calling their dogs. But Adam did not stop until he reached a small cliff, lit silver in the moonlight. He checked his step as a stone bounced down and hit the river.
The dogs howled again, closer. Two shots rang out.
Adam kicked off his boots, grabbed them with one hand and jumped, allowing the current to take him.
* * *
‘Miss Milton! Miss Milton. You must come. A man is lying by the river. Without any clothes on! Undressed—that is to say, naked!’
Daisy Milton glanced up from her sister Felicity’s latest letter about their niece and the unwelcome return of her illness. She was alarmed at her young charge’s words. A naked man? Here in this peaceful spot? Nella Blandish was supposed to be gathering flowers for a botany project, not spying. She had been given the strictest orders. But Nella had returned with her hat ribbon askew, pinafore stained, no flowers and another outlandish tale.
There were times when a governess was forced to make a judgement. Her sister’s problems would have to wait.
‘Truly, Miss Milton, there is a naked man! I saw him with my very own eyes.’
Daisy folded the letter and placed it in the wicker basket, each movement precise and unhurried. ‘Is this another of your fables, Prunella Blandish? This one does bear some semblance to last week’s tale about the lion eating buttercups.’
‘It is the truth…this time, Miss Milton. Honest, there is a naked man. You could see everything—all the way to kingdom come.’ Nella’s bottom lip stuck out and she shook her golden curls. ‘I watched him and watched him and he has not moved. He lies there, feet dangling in the water, head resting on a log.’
‘And what was this naked man of yours doing before he started lying there? Swimming?’ Daisy strove to keep her voice calm. She refused to enquire about what this everything-to-kingdom-come that Nella had seen was. If Nella’s tale was true, and if they did encounter this man on the way back to the house, she would explain in a quiet but firm voice about common decency and the necessity of wearing something when bathing.
Nella’s reactions were only natural, the result of being a lively twelve year old. But what would Mrs Blandish say once Nella related the tale? And Nella’s sister? A tiny pain appeared behind Daisy’s eyes. She needed this position and its wage.
No one ever set out to be a governess, least of all her. But Felicity had to look after their niece, and the annuity from her father was barely enough for one to manage on, let alone three. There was little to be done about falling sickness, but she completely agreed with Felicity that Kammie must be kept at home. It was Felicity, not she, who bore the hardest burden. Daisy’s sole contribution was to provide what funds she could.
‘How should I know, Miss Milton, what the man was doing before I saw him?’ Nella adopted her butter-wouldn’t-melt face. ‘You always tell me to refrain from speculating.’
‘It is a lovely afternoon in July.’ Daisy kept her voice light and tried to regain some of her authority. ‘I do hope you came away without saying anything. It would have been the height of bad manners, Prunella, to interrupt a man’s bathing.’
‘He wasn’t bathing. He was lying there in his altogether…’ Nella’s brow wrinkled and she clasped her hands under her chin, the very picture of injured innocence. ‘That is the very honest truth, Miss Milton.’
Daisy frowned, tapping her fingers against the basket.
How many times had she heard those words—‘the very honest truth’—over the past few months, only to discover that Nella had managed to exaggerate or somehow twist the story until it bore little resemblance to the actual sequence of events? This tale would stop here.
‘You solemnly promised your dearest mama no more tales or untruths.’
‘I know what I saw, Miss Milton…’ Nella pushed her bonnet more firmly on to her head. ‘I’ll prove it. Don’t you want to see the man? Judge for yourself?’
To see the man? Daisy set her bonnet more firmly on her head and smoothed the pleats of her black stuff gown. Nella made it seem as if she was some sort of sex-starved spinster who had nothing better to do than spy on men bathing. She had a healthy appreciation of the masculine form, but the consequences had to be considered. Someone had to contain Nella’s enthusiasm.
‘It is not a question of want, Prunella, but of decorum.’
‘It would be the Christian thing to do.’ Nella’s being positively glowed as the idea took hold in her brain. ‘To see if he was in trouble and needed our aid. He could have gone over the waterfall, or have been attacked by brigands…or…’
‘I do know my Christian duty, thank you, Prunella. And I endeavour to do it. Always. As you should.’
Daisy checked the little watch pinned to her gown. Nearly half past three. Did they have time to investigate? She could then deliver the ‘Importance of Always Telling the Truth’ lecture for the seventh time in as many days when Nella’s falsehood was revealed.
‘It is time we returned to the house. Your dear mama and sister will wish to know where you are. There may be arrivals to greet. Gilsland Spa is quite the rage this year as London remains in solemn mourning for our late lamented king.’
‘Susan isn’t interested in new arrivals. Susan’s sights are fixed on Lord Edward because he is the younger grandson of an earl and she wants a title.’ Nella paused and wrinkled her nose. ‘But Mama says that if anyone more eligible comes along, Susan had best be prepared to change her mind. Papa is worried about Lord Edward being to let in the pocket. Susan agreed eventually. A carriage is worth more than a handsome face.’
‘Nella!’ Daisy stared hard at her charge. ‘Your sister cannot be that mercenary.’
‘Susan told Mama the very same thing this morning.’ Nella swayed on her toes. A broad smile crossed her face as she lowered her voice. ‘I listen at doors.’
‘Then your sister is to get her London Season after all.’
‘Susan is quite convinced, though, that Lord Edward can be brought up to snuff and has begged Mama to keep the house for another month. It will save the expense of a London Season next year and the water will soothe dearest Mama’s nerves.’
Nella’s voice replicated the exact intonation of Miss Blandish’s overly refined tone. With difficulty Daisy forced the laugh back down her throat.
‘You should not listen in on private conversations. It is neither clever nor useful.’ Daisy practised her best governess stare. ‘And you should certainly never repeat them to anyone.’
‘How can I learn anything interesting otherwise? Nobody tells me anything.’
‘It is far from ladylike. Your mama wants you to become a lady. You will want to make a good match, just as your sister does.’
‘Who wants to get married? Marriage is all practicality and good breeding. I want to be a lady explorer.’ Nella waved her hand with airy disdain. ‘I am going to discover lost continents and find buried treasure. And I have not been anywhere yet—even Susan has been to France.’
‘Even lady explorers are ladies first. And explorers pay attention to their geography lessons.’ Daisy winced slightly at her prim words, so reminiscent of her own governess’s—glittering dreams were well and good, but they often vanished in the cold light of reality. Once she had dreamed of exploring the world. Now she settled for independence.
Nella tilted her head to one side as her eyes shone with mischief. ‘Do you think Susan would be interested in seeing my naked gentleman?’
‘Prunella! Control your mouth and your thoughts! A lady acts with propriety and honesty at all times. The man in question does not belong to you. And you have no idea of his antecedents and so cannot make a judgement about his status.’
Nella screwed up her nose. ‘But do you think Susan would be interested in my discovery?’
‘I doubt it.’ Daisy struggled to keep her voice withering. She could well imagine Susan Blandish’s face squeezed up as though she had tasted a particularly sour plum if Nella mentioned the word naked. ‘Knowing things and informing other people of them are two different things. Discretion and tact should be your bywords, even when you are a lady explorer.’
‘I am glad I have you, Miss Milton.’ Nella reached out a grubby hand and squeezed Daisy’s pristine glove. ‘You never worry about such things as fashion and how to catch a viscount. You understand about exploring and never wanting to get married.’ Nella batted her lashes. ‘I wouldn’t have interrupted you for any other reason. I know how much you enjoy your letters from your sister. It is just that I feel one must try to help and do one’s Christian duty. Mama gave me a lecture on the very subject yesterday after I objected to meeting Mrs Gough, the vicar’s wife, who smells distinctly of lemon barley water.’
Daisy permitted a tiny smile to cross her face as she recognised Nella’s tone. Perhaps after all she would reach some sort of rapprochement with her pupil. The whole episode would provide fodder for several letters to her friend Louisa Sibson. ‘Where is this sight that you wish me to see?’
* * *
Daisy climbed the short ridge and looked down on the winding river. The sound of Crammel Linn waterfall crashed in her ears. In the sky a hawk circled. All was at peace. Nothing could possibly be wrong here.
She shaded her eyes and then she saw him, the body, lying in a pool of water just before the waterfall. His body was half in and half out of the water, caught on a log.
Once when she had been about ten, she had travelled to Italy with her mother and sister to improve her Italian. In Sorrento, she had spied a statue like this man. Not young or a hardened warrior, but an athlete, poised to throw a javelin. The perfection of masculinity personified, her governess had declared, with a clasp of her gloved hands before sweeping Daisy onwards towards more suitable views. She had not quite understood the meaning of the remark until now.
‘You see. I spoke the very honest truth,’ Nella called out in a sing-song voice. ‘A naked man by the river.’
‘Except he is far from naked. He wears a shirt and trousers.’
Nella put her hands on her hips. ‘Mama always says that a man might as well be naked if he is not wearing a stock or a coat, and this one isn’t. He does not have boots either. Or a waistcoat.’
‘He is still wearing clothing, Prunella.’ Daisy rolled her eyes heavenwards and struggled to keep her face stern.
‘I preferred it when he was naked.’ Nella rocked back on her heels. ‘It made it seem all the more exciting. It is very easy to imagine that he had no clothes on and I could see everything. See how his shirt moulds to his back. He has a very pleasant back.’
Daisy swallowed hard, remembering the statues in Italy with their unclad shoulders and tapering waists.
‘The man is clearly in need of assistance. Excitement does not come into it,’ Daisy said firmly. A governess was never ruffled. Or surprised even when confronted with such a sight. A governess was prepared for everything.
She put her hand to the side of her face and tried to think straight.
Help—she needed help and fast. Strong backs and arms to carry the man from the river.
She picked up her skirts and prepared to run, but halted before she had gone two steps. Was it her imagination or was the log rocking against the stones, preparing to carry its cargo down the waterfall?
Her mouth went dry. By the time she returned with help, the man would have been washed downstream, and any hope of survival gone. He needed to be lifted clear of the river immediately.
‘Do you think he is dead? He has not moved.’ A thoughtful expression came into Nella’s eyes. ‘I have never seen a dead person before, not even when Grandpapa died and they laid him out in the best parlour. I was considered too young.’
‘I have no idea.’ Daisy watched the man for another breath. The faint breeze ruffled his hair, but she could not discern the rhythmic lifting of his chest. On one of his hands the dull gleam of metal showed. What had happened to him? A swimming accident? Had he misjudged the swift current? Surely no robber or thief would have left a ring. ‘It is impossible to say from here. But there does not appear to be any blood. A closer look is needed. Remember, Nella, hard facts and not guesswork. Ladies do not make assumptions.’
Daisy shifted the basket so it was tighter against her hip and the blanket secure. A narrow bramble-strewn path wound its way down to the river and if she was careful she would be able to reach the man…the corpse without too much difficulty.
‘Shall I come with you? Or am I needed elsewhere?’ Nella asked, pulling her bonnet towards her nose. ‘I mean, I think I would rather go back to the house. Mama may have need of me.’
‘What a clever idea, Nella.’ Daisy forced her voice to be brisk. Propriety demanded that Nella be kept away. ‘It would be best if you stopped at Shaw’s Hotel. Tell the innkeeper about the man and ask him to send some assistance. You can do that, can’t you, Nella? You can find your way?’
Nella stood straighter and positively glowed. ‘I know the way. I am twelve and not a baby of ten, after all. We came here last year for Mama’s nerves. Mademoiselle Le Claire often had a poorly head and so I wandered about on my own. The innkeeper and I became great friends.’
Daisy clamped her lips shut. She knew all about Mademoiselle Le Claire and her habits. The woman had returned to France and Nella had been through three other governesses since, each with their own particular quirk. ‘Nella, you should walk quickly and not run. A lady always proceeds at a dignified pace—even lady explorers.’
A mutinous expression passed over Nella’s face, but she obviously thought better of it. ‘Of course, Miss Milton.’
‘That’s a good girl. Remember to tell the innkeeper without delay or embellishment.’
‘I will, Miss Milton,’ Nella sang out, lifting her hand in farewell.
Daisy pushed the slight sense of trepidation from her mind. Nella would enjoy the attention of being the heroine of the hour. Nella set off walking at a quick pace, but before she had gone thirty paces, the girl began to run. Daisy shook her head and turned her attention to the injured man. It was definitely not her imagination. The log had started to move towards the waterfall.
Daisy put her boot down on a loose rock, half-slid and half-ran two more feet. A distinct ripping sound resounded as the black stuff fabric in her skirt gave way. Daisy winced. Another bit of mending to do. And she hated to think about the state of her gloves. Felicity and Kammie had given them to her for her last birthday. Kammie had carefully stitched the daisies about the cuff. She wouldn’t have worn them, but, after last week’s thorn-bush incident, the pairs of serviceable gloves she owned were distinctly limited.
As she reached the riverbank, there was a huge creak and the log pulled free of the anchoring rock. With hesitating, Daisy plunged in, grabbed the man’s arm and tugged. His body refused to move as the current began to pull the log ever closer to the waterfall. Daisy watched as two black objects broke free, swirled once and then went over the waterfall to their doom.
Daisy closed her eyes, readjusted her hold on him and pulled with all her strength. At first the log seemed to be trying to carry her with it as well. She went further into the river, and planted her feet more firmly. Suddenly his body moved with her, coming up against her. Immediately Daisy redoubled her efforts and forced her mind not to think about the impropriety of having his chest so close to hers. She stumbled backwards, and his heavy body landed on top of her. Her hands pushed him, rolling him off her. He gave a faint groan.
She turned her head in time to see the log crash over the waterfall, splintering as it hit the rocks. A violent shiver racked her as she thought how narrowly he had escaped.
He gave a violent cough, bringing up water. Daisy rapped him sharply on the back until his breath appeared to come easier.
His linen shirt was translucent and moulded to his back. He wore a pair of fawn-coloured trousers and so gave the illusion of being naked. He lay on his stomach, head turned away from her. His black hair curled slightly at his neck. His chest rose and fell slightly. Alive. A soft noise arose, a cross between a snore and a snort, and he mumbled something incoherent about clubs and railways—the same sort of noise that her father had made in his wingback armchair after several glasses of port.
A deep rage filled her. She had risked life, limb and reputation to save this man and he was drunk. More than likely uninjured. She should have let him drown.
She coughed softly, but when he did not move, she tried again, reaching forwards to prod him with her basket as water dripped from her gown.
At the sound of her squelching boots, his lashes fluttered and his amber gaze pierced her. His eyes were a myriad of shifting browns and golds and his lashes provided the perfect frame.
The sound of laughter filled the air—his laughter, low and husky as if they were sharing some private joke.
‘Are you hurt? Or merely drunk?’ she asked through gritted teeth. ‘I have spoilt my best gloves and soaked my gown in the rescue attempt. The least you can do is answer civilly instead of laughing at the spectacle.’
The man groaned and buried his face in his arms. ‘Do you have to speak so loudly? You would wake the dead, ma’am, with your tones.’
‘Not the dead, just you.’ Daisy raised her eyes heavenwards. English, and with the arrogant tones of someone well bred. That was all she needed—a rake who had made a drunken wager to swim the Irthing. All she asked for was a bit of common decency, but when had a rake ever possessed such a thing? ‘Do you know how you came to be here?’
‘Not by choice. Wrong sort of clothes to swim in for a start. Always swim in my birthday suit.’ A great cough racked his body. ‘Swallowed most of the river as well. Definitely not my preferred tipple. It lacks a certain something, don’t you agree?’
Daisy wrung out the hem of her skirt. Definitely a rake and one of the worst sort. Her only hope was that he would begin to make a certain amount of sense and she could leave him. ‘Have you any idea why you are here?’
‘Carriage halted. I escaped and the dogs followed. So I went into the river.’ His frown increased and his hand fumbled about the rocks as if he were searching for something. ‘My boots! What have you done with my boots?’
‘I have not touched your boots. A pair may have gone over the falls, but forgive me as I was otherwise occupied with saving you.’
The man swore, loud and long. Daisy made a tutting noise at the back of her throat, so that he would understand that curses were always unnecessary in the hearing of a lady. She then made a great show of picking up her basket.
‘Someone stole those boots.’
‘You still have your signet ring.’ Daisy pointed at the dull gold band he wore on his little finger. Did he take her for some green girl? Easily conned by a smile and a pair of fine eyes? As if she would take a pair of boots. He was probably the sort that could not take his boots off without a valet. More than likely the boots were with his friends.
A frown appeared between his two dark eyebrows. His fingers curled about his ring. ‘Not that. Curious.’
‘Why did they do that? Why not take it if they were thieves?’ Daisy shifted the basket to her other hip and watched him through narrow slits.
‘You would have to ask my attackers. I was too busy trying to stay alive.’ The man’s sardonic voice echoed in her ears. His long fingers explored the back of his head. ‘And while you are at it, you can ask them why they left me with a lump the size of a goose egg on the side of my head. The violence was unnecessary.’
‘If that is the case, then perhaps I had best go and find them immediately. You are obviously in no need of assistance from me.’ Daisy opted for her most withering tone.
‘Why did this attack happen?’ His hand shot out and encircled her wrist. ‘The truth this time, phantom of my mind, or I shall be forced to destroy you.’
