Page 17 of The Governess and the Rogue

Mr. Dimsdale abruptly released Bea’s cheek. He stepped back, with a cough. “Er, I say, Miss Layton. Do you know this chap?”

Bea pressed a hand to her corseted midsection. Her breath seemed to have jammed up in her chest, and her skin had gone into some queer sort of clammy flush. She didn’t know how she managed to keep her countenance.

“Colonel, may I present my employer, Mr. Dimsdale,” she said. “Mr. Dimsdale, this is Colonel…” She faltered. “Colonel…”

“Beresford,” the colonel replied as he came to join them. “Lately of Her Majesty’s Army in Persia.”

“Beresford,” Mr. Dimsdale repeated with a dubious sniff. “Don’t recall the name.”

The colonel held Mr. Dimsdale’s gaze. “You might be better acquainted with my father,” he said. “The Earl of Allendale.”

Chapter Six

Jack hadn’t planned to reveal himself to anyone on the ship, least of all to a half-drunk colonial.

But needs must.

An expression of astonishment spread over Mr. Dimsdale’s face. It was one Jack had frequently seen before. The name of John Beresford, Earl of Allendale, often inspired such a reaction. Jack’s father was both wealthy and powerful, as well as being one of the largest landowners in the West Country. He was also a gentleman known far and wide for his ruthless temperament.

A temperament, many people claimed, that his children had inherited. His ice-cold heir, James. His firebrand of a second-son, Ivo. His dauntless daughter, Kate. And his wild, neck-or-nothing youngest son, Jack, who had departed England fourteen years ago to fight for Queen and country.

Dimsdale’s throat bobbed on a swallow. “The Earl of Allendale you say?” he managed. “And, er, he’s your father?”

Jack felt the weight of Miss Layton’s stare. Doubtless he’d shocked her too. It wasn’t his foremost concern at the moment. “He is,” Jack replied stonily. “And like him, I don’t approve of gentlemen in your condition inflicting themselves on ladies.”

Dimsdale turned red as a beetroot. “Look here,” he said. “This woman’s a member of my household. My children’s governess. I⁠—”

“Which makes your actions this evening that much more reprehensible,” Jack said. “If this lady is indeed a member of your household, you’re responsible for her wellbeing.”

Dimsdale drew himself up with unsteady authority. “Exactly so. Which is why⁠—”

“It didn’t appear to me that you were looking after her welfare,” Jack interrupted. “Quite the reverse.” He turned to Miss Layton. “Are you all right?”

Miss Layton’s chin was upraised and her shoulders squared. “I’m well, thank you.”

Despite her brave face, Jack couldn’t fail to notice the thready quaver in her voice.

The man had frightened her. And not only because of what he’d been about to do, but because of who he was. Unless Jack was mistaken, Miss Layton was entirely at the Dimsdales’ mercy.

Why else would she remain in their employ when the children hurled abuse at her? When they bullied her? Struck her, by God? And now this insult to heap atop the rest. The very worst insult by Jack’s reckoning.

Dimsdale’s face relaxed into a too jovial smile. “There, you see? Nothing to trouble yourself over. Just having a word with one of my staff about a small domestic matter.”

Jack didn’t believe it for a second. “I think not,” he said. “Not in your condition.”

Dimsdale’s smile wavered. “I say, Beresford. This is really none of your business.”

Jack took a threatening step toward him. He may have a gammy leg, but he could still deal with a man of Dimsdale’s ilk. “I’m making it my business,” he said. “You’re unfit for company. I suggest you retire to your cabin until you’ve sobered up.”

Dimsdale scrunched his brow, as though he were attempting to solve a thorny mathematical problem. If he could exercise his feeble wit to the task, he’d realize that Jack was giving him an out. A means of blaming his despicable behavior on drink when they both knew it was a question, not of whiskey, but of character.

“Now you mention it, I did overindulge a bit at the gaming tables,” Dimsdale replied at last. “Congenial company, and a rousing evening of cards. Not unheard of for a gentleman, but I take your meaning. A good night’s rest will see me straight.” Offering Jack a teetering bow, he backed away, but not before casting a flinty look in Miss Layton’s direction. “You may address yourself to my wife in the morning,” he said to her. “She will see to any arrangements.”

With that, he staggered off in the direction of the stairs that led to the deck below.

No sooner had he gone than Miss Layton’s shoulders slumped. A visible tremor went through her. She rested both of her hands on the rail of the ship to steady herself.

“Arrangements about what?” Jack asked.