Compromising Miss Milton. Michelle Styles

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      She glanced upwards and saw the hawk was now but a speck in the sky. Had all this happened so quickly?

      Could she blame him if he had thought her somehow involved? How would she have behaved if she had been thrown into a river and left for dead? If she had not been sure a person was truly there, or their intent was peaceful?

      You are too quick to judge, Daisy my girl. Give people a chance to prove their worth before leaping to conclusions. You might be pleasantly surprised. Her brother’s voice reprimanding her for some long-forgotten misdemeanour echoed in her brain. Her brother would never have left anyone in this condition, and neither could she.

      Daisy retied the strings of her bonnet, making sure it was firmly on her head, reminding her of her position in the world. ‘You have not improved with age. You have ended up like your nurse predicted. The very devil.’

      ‘Hoisted by my own words.’ He shivered as he shook his head in mock despair. ‘There are devils and then there are demons.’

      Daisy resisted the impulse to smile. His hair had flopped forwards, making him seem like a little boy. But there was nothing boyish about his mouth or his hooded glance. Here was a man who was aware of the seductive power he could wield over a woman. Daisy forced her shoulders to relax. He would be surprised when she proved immune.

      ‘I will listen to your story and then decide if you are deserving of my help. But I want facts and not embellishments. When did this start?’

      ‘There are simply not enough hours in the day to begin to explain, even if I knew where to begin.’ Adam ran a hand through his hair. A vast tiredness swept over him. Where should he begin? In India with Kamala, the necklace and its aftermath? But everyone save him was dead now. There could not be a connection. If he knew the why behind the attack, then he could give the woman some reason. No, it was best to keep things simple. ‘But like any law-abiding person I object to being beaten and robbed.’

      Her full lips became a disapproving line. ‘Are you always this irritable? Or did drink contribute to this situation?’

      Adam regarded the waterfall with its treacherous rocks. He should have died last night. He could see that now. A few inches to the right or left and the log he had clung to would have gone over. His head would have been dashed opened on the rocks. He closed his eyes, unable to bear the glare of the water any more. Arguing with this woman was the only thing that was keeping him from collapsing in a heap.

      ‘I don’t generally make a habit of jumping into fast-flowing rivers at night—drunk or sober.’

      ‘It is good to hear that you can be sensible.’ The woman’s voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘Are you from around here? How far do we have to go before I can bid you adieu?’

      ‘Where is here?’ Adam gazed at the crashing waterfall and the broad-leaf wood. How far had the coach had travelled and in what direction before they had stopped? He wanted to think the time had been short, but all his brain could summon was confused images. The carriage stopping, the shouts, the rude awakening from confused dreams.

      ‘You are near Gilsland in Cumberland.’ She put her basket down and shielded her eyes. ‘Shaw’s Hotel is no more than two miles from here.’

      Gilsland! Adam raised his eyes heavenwards. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. His attackers had made an error. In Gilsland he was known and could procure the means to go after the gang with relative ease, provided he could discover their lair.

      ‘The area is not noted for its thieves,’ he said slowly. ‘The border raids stopped over a century ago.’

      ‘Then you must have enemies.’

      Adam considered the question. Who hated him enough to want him dead? He had broken with his mistress before he had left for Scotland, but she had received a good pay off and had gone into the arms of a baronet. The poor fool was welcome to her. His business associates would not dare. There was no one. No reason he could think of. His imaginings about the Indian thuggee—those long-dead murderers who attacked innocent travellers—were hallucinations brought on by the drugged beer. Had to be. But who wanted the necklace enough to bribe his driver? Who would take that sort of risk?

      ‘None that I felt would take such drastic measures.’ Adam pinched the bridge of his nose and bade the pains in his head to go. ‘It must be this area.’

      ‘Impossible, despite Sir Walter Scott’s tales to the contrary.’ The governess began to straighten her hideous bonnet as she expounded on her theme of the area being safe and very refined. Adam inched his way over to the basket. He touched the handle and secreted the necklace in between the lining and the wicker basket. Later when they had reached safety, he would retrieve it, but for now, it was best that it resided there, hidden. If she had no connection to the gang, then she would not be in danger. If she did, the thieves would deal with her.

      ‘A very pretty speech, but I was attacked here and, therefore, discount your theory,’ he said, bringing the recital of Gilsland’s virtue to a close.

      The governess gave a loud sniff and straightened her mud-splattered gloves. The ring finger split open. She wrinkled her nose. ‘Bother!’

      Adam lowered his voice to a seductive purr. ‘Allow me to get you another pair.’

      Her cheeks flamed. ‘I could not possibly accept. It is not done. Ever.’

      ‘You have decided that I am a ruffian.’ Adam put a hand to his head and winced at the lump. Each breath he took pained his ribs. But he would procure another pair of gloves for the lady and she would accept them. It was the least he could do.

      ‘I am being practical.’ The governess picked up the basket and primly held it in front of her. ‘Without a formal introduction, I have no knowledge of your antecedents.’

      ‘It is my fault your gloves have become spoilt; even you will have trouble denying that.’ Adam regarded her with a practised eye. His manoeuvre had been a success. She suspected nothing. ‘Miss…’

      ‘Milton. Miss Daisy Milton…governess to Miss Prunella Blandish.’ She ignored his outstretched hand.

      ‘Adam Ravensworth, the third Viscount Ravensworth.’ He inclined his head. Lord knew, right now he needed an ally. He might be near Gilsland, but he was not in the hotel. He could remember the walk to the waterfall from the hotel took nearly the entire morning, not a prospect to be undertaken lightly, even in the best of health.

      ‘I had not realised that the second viscount—Lord Charles Ravensworth—had died.’

      ‘My grandfather died two years ago.’

      ‘Ah, that explains it. I recollect his despairing of his grandsons. Which one are you? The elder one who would not settle or the younger one who went to India?’

      Adam started. Of all the responses, he had not expected that one. His grandfather had been well known once, but his gout had made it difficult for him to go out in the final years. Sometimes, he had spoken querulously about everyone but his immediate family considering him long gone from this world. Had he once long ago met this woman? It would explain the strange air of familiarity. He half-smiled—nothing to do with India and everything to do with Warwickshire and home. ‘How did you know my grandfather?’

      ‘He was a client of my first employer. СКАЧАТЬ