Paying the Virgin's Price. Christine Merrill

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СКАЧАТЬ knowing. There was something about the way that he sat in the chair, now he had recovered himself, that made her think he was usually an adventurous man. Wherever he belonged, it was somewhere much more exciting than a drawing room. As she got up and went to prepare the desk in the corner for writing, she could feel herself colouring at the thought that he was behind her and might be watching her move.

      Had it been necessary of him to give flattering attention to a paid companion, just to get writing materials? She would have given him what he asked, even if he’d frowned at her, Diana thought. But his charming behaviour only stood to remind her how hopeless her fantasies might be. In a short time, he would be gone and she would be here, delivering the note like the servant she was. He would have forgotten all about her.

      And she would be left with the memory of that smile.

      Mr Dale came and sat at the place she prepared for him, at the tiny desk by the window. He thought for a moment, then scrawled a few words on the paper, blotted it, and stared at the sealing wax for a moment. Here he would show how little he trusted her with the contents.

      Then he put the wax away, and looked directly into her eyes—the green light in his sparkled like emeralds—and his smile changed to a thoughtful frown. ‘Miss Price. I do not wish to trouble the girls with the reason for my visit. My fears for the Carlow family might be for naught. But you are their companion, are you not? A watchdog for their honour and reputation?’

      Diana nodded.

      ‘Then should they receive the attention of a dark gentleman who calls himself Stephano Beshaley, know that he is a danger to them. Watch him carefully. And watch the girls as well, for he is just the sort to try and turn their heads. Should he appear, you must find Marc or Hal immediately and tell them. Can you do that for me?’

      She nodded again, more puzzled than she had been before.

      ‘Very good.’ He handed her the folded sheet of paper. ‘You can give this note to either Stanegate or Lieutenant Carlow, when next they are home. Marcus preferably, since he is eldest and most responsible. But either will understand its meaning. Thank you for your time, Miss Price.’ He gave a short bow, and turned to leave.

      ‘Wait.’She held up a hand to stop him before realizing that she had no reason to call him back to her, other than an irrational desire not to let him go.

      He turned back, an expectant look on his face.

      ‘If they wish to reply, where shall I direct the message? Or will you be returning?’

      He gave the barest shake of his head. ‘Do not concern yourself. They will not wish to reply to me, any more than they wish a visit from Beshaley. But now, my conscience is as clear as I can make it. On this subject, at least.’ He gave her another strange look, as though he were apologizing for something, even though he had done her no wrong. ‘Good day, Miss Price.’And he was gone.

      She walked slowly back up the stairs to Verity, with the note in her hand, wondering what she was supposed to do with the thing. She could forward it on to Marc on his honeymoon, she supposed. But he and Nell were not due back from Northumberland for weeks, and she hated to bother them. The time before their marriage had been stressful enough. Surely they deserved a few weeks of peace.

      The paper before her was not sealed. Mr Dale had left it to her discretion. And although she would never peruse Marc’s mail under normal circumstances, perhaps this one time it would be better to read the message to see if the matter was urgent.

      There was only one line, scrawled hurriedly in the centre of the paper.

      Marc,

      The Gypsy has returned.

      Nathan.

      Her breath caught a little in her throat. The words were ominous: black and spidery against the white of the paper. But it was nothing that she did not already know. Nor would Marc be surprised. He had explained to her what happened, before he left, the harrowing fight, the single shot, and the evil Gypsy who had been calling himself Salterton falling to his death in the icy water. Marc had cautioned her to be on her guard and watch the girls closely, in case he had been wrong. If the man lived, he might return to bother them.

      She bit her lip. If only there were some way to draw Mr Dale back and ask him if this information was recent or some time in coming. It was possible that he’d met the Gypsy before his demise on the ice some weeks ago. Marc had warned her before he’d left to be on guard against all strangers, particularly one with dark hair and skin. She was to summon him immediately if anything or anyone unusual appeared.

      This morning’s visit had certainly been unusual. But Nathan Dale was not dark, nor was he threatening. He had been trying to help, and had brought a scrap of information that was already known to the family. If a specific threat had been imminent, surely he would have said more, or seemed more worried. And he had been smiling just now. How serious could the situation be?

      She would adopt a wait-and-see attitude, doing just as Marc had asked. She would watch the girls more closely than usual. And if Mr Dale returned, she would try to find a way to draw him out and gain more information—without revealing that she had opened his note.

      On thinking of it, she very much hoped Mr Dale would return. She suspected he was a most interesting gentleman and it intrigued her to know more about him. It was as though hard weather had rubbed away at a softer, less substantial person, until the core of vitality could shine through to the surface. There was an air of confidence about him, as though he had already seen and survived hardship and knew better than to be rattled by anything less than the gravest circumstances.

      Perhaps he had already dealt with the Gypsy’s threat and was only tying up the loose ends of the contact, making sure that the man could do no damage elsewhere. If she needed his help during Marc’s absence, there might be some way…

      Of course not. She reminded herself firmly of her first suspicions regarding the man: that he might be a suitor of Honoria or Verity. If he was a friend of Marc’s and sought the company of any of the women in the house, there was no reason to think that he would seek the friendship of their companion nor that he wished to be bothered with her concerns over the girls.

      It was just that she had found the sight of him to be rather dashing, and now she was spinning fancies that they would have more time to talk.

      She glanced down at the note, and Nathan written at the bottom. And she shivered. It was good that she had conversed with the man before seeing it, for past experience had taught her to dread that name, and all who carried it. If she had known he was a Nathan, she might have let an unreasonable prejudice colour her opinions of him. And then she would have been deprived of that marvellous smile. She smiled back, even though he was not there to see it.

      Verity looked up as she entered the dressing room. ‘Who was it?’

      Diana tucked the note into the pocket of her dress. ‘It was the most extraordinary man.’ Without meaning to, she gave a little sigh of pleasure. She had nothing to fear from this Nathan. He looked nothing like the man her father had warned her of, ten years ago. Mr Dale was not cold, or emotionless or the least bit cruel. Her spontaneous attraction to him came from the openness of his countenance, his easy nature and his selfless concern for others. He had a robust physique and the healthy colouring of a man who enjoyed nature, not the stooped frame, pinched face and anaemic pallor of a habitual gambler.

      In short, he was the diametric opposite of Nathan Wardale.

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