AllFreeNovel
Share Us
An inexplicable wave of melancholy gripped her. With a groan, she tipped back her head to the ceiling. She had felt terribly restless for weeks, and the dratted feeling would not abate.
A sharp knock had her lowering the slim leather book onto her lap. “Yes?”
Gibbs entered. “A Mr. Tremayne has called, Your Grace.”
The sudden tremble in her heart was appalling. Did he have news so soon? It was only two days past he was given the task of finding information on Jane. “Please show him in to the library.”
“Certainly, Your Grace.” Gibbs shuffled away.
Gibbs was seventy years of age, well past the time when most men in his position retired with their pensions. His movements had grown noticeably slower in the past year, but she was reluctant to find a new butler, and he was in no hurry to leave. She put aside the book and slid from the sofa. For a disconcerting moment, she considered changing into a more suitable gown. With the intention of turning away all callers brave enough to traverse the inclement weather, she had dressed quite casually, in a simple high-waisted, rose-colored gown. Her hair had been left loose and tumbled down her back in waves. Perhaps she should retire to her chamber and summon Mary, her lady’s maid, to arrange her tresses. Grabbing the thick mass, Georgiana quickly assembled it in a loose knot and pushed her feet back into her slippers. With an irritated sigh, she abandoned the cozy parlor and strode to the library and entered.
Mr. Tremayne turned from the bookshelves, where he was perusing titles, at the soft snick of the door. He had been caught in the downpour, yet he looked nothing like a drowned rat. His clothes were faultlessly tailored to his lean, powerful physique. For a man who reportedly lived in the rougher areas, he was uncommonly elegant.
“Please be seated, Mr. Tremayne. May I offer you some refreshment?” she asked graciously, walking over to sit behind the large oak desk. Instantly some of her apprehension faded as she cloaked herself into the persona of the duchess. At his silence, she lifted a brow. “Well?” she demanded, quite aware of how haughty she sounded.
“No,” he said, ignoring her pleasantries and strolling to the windows. There was an electric vitality to the man that was almost overpowering.
“Then shall we begin?”
He turned and leaned a shoulder casually against the glass of the windows. His gaze measured her expression for several seconds. “Your nursemaid is living in Hertfordshire.”
Oh. She had thought he would have withheld the information until he had extracted something of value from her. “Are you quite certain, Mr. Tremayne? You have only been searching for a couple days.”
He gave her a tolerant smile. “She is the mistress of Squire Redgrave, the wealthiest landowner in the village where she is living.”
Squire Redgrave? The licentious bastard. Several weeks before Jane had disappeared, his carriage had lost a wheel, and Georgiana had trusted him into her home as a guest, and he had lured away a young girl such as Jane. Jane was indeed a beautiful woman, raised as a gentle lady in a respectable house, who had fallen on hard times after the death of her parents in a carriage accident. Georgiana had hired her to be her son’s nursemaid and had given her a generous salary. She had not thought Jane would be so easily persuaded to become someone’s soiled dove. “She is willing?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know why she left so suddenly and without giving the proper notice?” Even though it was quite evident the wealth that came with being a squire’s mistress was far greater than being a nursemaid, Georgiana had expected some communication from Jane. Their relationship had been cordial, and she had simply left Nicolas by the lake.
“For all intents and purposes, she is satisfied with her lot in life. As a mistress, she will earn at least three times what she would earn at your household for the year.”
Georgiana frowned. “I see, and is it your opinion that Jane is not interested in returning to work as a nursemaid?”
“It is.”
She stood, painfully aware of the way his darkly disturbing gaze tracked her movements. She could not dismiss him from any part of her awareness. Now for the part she had been dreading. “What do I owe you, Mr. Tremayne?”
Please, for once, say money.
His dark gaze hooded. “There is no charge.”
This she had not expected. “I beg your pardon?”
A fleeting smile touched his lips, rendering him almost charming. “I did nothing, Your Grace.”
She gathered her wits about her, assessing him shrewdly. “You brought me information not even Bow Street was able to unearth.”
“It was only a piddle of intelligence, gleaned quite effortlessly. I do not trade on such meager connections. The favors I collect are too hard to meet by some to be secured for little or no work.” A shade of regret tinged his tone.
Despite his reputation, he brokers with honor.
“I see.” Except she truly did not. Her instinct screamed she did not want to be beholden to this man in any manner. And right now, she could feel an invisible web wrapping itself around her, one she did not understand. “I insist on reimbursing you. That was the premise of our deal, and it would be dishonorable for me to renege. There must be something you need I can assist with?”
His expression became impenetrable, and silence lingered as they took each other’s measure.
“Perhaps you could pay a social call upon me at my home next week.”
A social call at his home? “I will most certainly not, Mr. Tremayne.” Her reputation would come under the most severe of scrutiny. Worse, a social call implied far more intimacy than business. Her heart pounded, and her mouth went dry. Might it be that he wanted to cultivate a relationship? “You must be satisfied with another favor.”
“It is safe to presume we are not to be acquaintances then?” he drawled mockingly, an unfathomable emotion glinting in the dark depths of his gaze.
“You presume correctly,” she said flatly and would make n
o apology for her dismissive tone.
“So imperious…so cold, so ducal,” he said, with such soft menace, he rendered her speechless.
Georgiana became painfully aware they were ensconced alone in her library. It mattered not that the house bustled with dozens of servants and there were sure to be at least two footmen lurking in the hallway, she felt decidedly unsafe. It became even more imperative that whatever connection had formed must be severed and that this man must not believe she was in his debt. It wasn’t to be tolerated. “If I do not owe you, Mr. Tremayne, then our business has concluded. I bid you good day.”
Silence fell between them, thick and oppressive. Dear Lord. He did believe she owed him, she could see the cool sinister knowledge in his distressingly beautiful eyes. “What do you want?” she said with steel in her tone, snapping her spine straight.
“Nothing.”
The smile she attempted felt brittle and tight. “I refuse for you to leave without some form of payment. It will not be said by you that my debt was not settled.”
He gave her an arrested stare. “What I want, Your Grace, and the token you would pay me are not the same.”
A startled laugh escaped before she choked back the sound. “I beg your pardon,” she demanded, truly shocked at the man’s galling temerity.
His silver eyes raked her body, and something in his slow perusal chilled her. “If you insist on settling what you owe here and now…unpin your hair,” he said with such sensual command, she froze.
A strange stirring began in the pit of her stomach and drifted lower. Oh, dear lord. She felt empty and frustrated, so much so that she was feeling desire for the most inappropriate man. That could be the only explanation for the darting frisson of sexual heat to pierce her whenever she met his cool, mocking glance.
He prowled closer. “I desire to see you sprawled in that high wingback chair over there, your legs split wide and each draped upon the arms.”
A startling warmth invaded her, and shock sent prickles all over her body.
