Page 25 of The Devil to Pay

“Hilly is too old to be his nurse, really,” she said, a trifle defensively. “But it would break her heart not to do it. She’s been with us since my eldest brother was born. She’s part of the family.”

Jules nodded his understanding. “I can see that. She’d resent the help of a younger underling too, I don’t doubt.”

“Quite,” she said, with a sharp nod, and Jules felt she was annoyed with him, but could not understand why or what he had done wrong.

They went back to work, but the conversation lingered in Jules’ mind, and he found it bothered him. “There’s to be a dance?” he asked, wondering if she’d tell him to keep his mind on his work. He did not know where he stood with her now. He’d come to her purporting to be a lowly gardener, but they both knew very well he was nothing of the sort. She had guessed he was a gentleman, but he was still in her employ, albeit loosely and via Briggs, but all the same. He ought not to be talking to her of parties.

She glanced up at him. “Just at the assembly rooms in Monmouth. Why? Are you interested in going?” Jules avoided her enquiring look, studying the title of the book he’d picked up instead. “You’re not?” he asked casually.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Jules looked up at her, frowning. “What’s ridiculous about going to a dance?”

“Nothing in the least for Abigail, but I am well past the point of doing such things. I’m far too busy for one,” she added with a snap.

“Surely it’s in the evening?”

“Do you think I sit with my feet up eating sweetmeats and sipping sherry every night?” she demanded, sounding unaccountably angry.

Jules stared at her, wondering again what he had done to make her look at him with such animosity. It startled him to realise how much it bothered him. Indignation burned for a moment at the way she spoke to him, but his curiosity to know more about her had him overcome his annoyance and speak gently.

“I don’t think anyone here works harder than you do,” he said cautiously. “But one evening to enjoy yourself wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

“Well, that’s where you are wrong, as about so many things. It would hurt very much.”

There was an undertone to the bitter rejoinder that he did not understand, but he felt the truth of it, her truth. She swept out of the room without another word and Jules knew himself to be dismissed. He did not understand how or why such an evening would hurt her, but she meant it, and despite the way he had been so summarily put in his place, there was an oddly tender sensation in his chest as he considered it.

He did not like to think of his magnificent Boadicea as anything less than indomitable. She had the hide of a rhinoceros, surely? She’d need it to run this place with the ruthless efficiency that she seemed to do everything. Yet there had been a glimpse of something raw and vulnerable in her words and Jules didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit.

Selina hurried out of the room, cursing herself. What the devil had got into her? She needed to remind herself of just who that man was and what it was he had in mind. If she’d had the slightest doubt, the conversation about Jane Austen and writing had put it aside once and for all. Did he know she knew? He must at least suspect, surely? So why was he still here? To draw her in and invite her to make an even bigger fool of herself, probably. Likely that whole touching scene with Benjamin had been entirely for her benefit, designed to melt the heart of an icy spinster. It had worked too, damn him. The sight of the big man sprawled over the floor, intent on helping her baby brother build his castle, had tugged at something deep inside her, desire and need awakening a long-forgotten dream of what her future might look like. Not so forgotten after all, it appeared, though as far out of reach as it had ever been.

Striding up the stairs, she entered her room and closed the door, leaning against it and letting out a ragged sigh of relief. It would not do for anyone to see her looking anything less than in control. Hot tears pricked at her eyelids and, though she scolded herself for being a great ninny, a sob built in her chest. She pressed her fist to her mouth and resolutely forbade herself to cry. It was his fault. It was all his fault. They had been going on splendidly before he got here. She had been, well, not happy, no. Content, though… or something close to it, and then Mark bloody Briggs or whatever his real name was had to come and mess it all up.

He was toying with her, she reminded herself, gathering information which she had no doubt would be used against her in some diabolical manner. She had no doubt he would discover a creative revenge on her for having dared to criticise him. That was her own fault, she supposed, having to acknowledge that much. Her wretched tongue had never learned the habit of tact, of speaking softly, of modifying her opinions. If she’d been a man, it would not be a problem, in the gentler sex it was unforgivable.

She closed her eyes and tried her best to control her breathing, yet his words kept coming back to haunt her.

I don’t think anyone here works harder than you do, but surely, one evening to enjoy yourself wouldn’t hurt?

He had sounded so genuine, and she had known if she had allowed the charade to continue, he would have smiled that devastating smile, and gently teased and cajoled her into believing she wasn’t on the shelf, wasn’t too big and too forthright, and all together too much to deal with, and she had wanted that.

For a ridiculous moment she had wanted to believe in the lie, to let him say the words, to flirt with her and make her feel pretty and young again instead of like an old drudge, a dried-up husk of a woman past her prime.

“Foolish beyond permission,” she said furiously, reaching for anger to save her from feeling pathetic and weak, for she would not allow herself such frailty.

The family needed her, depended on her, and Mark Briggs was a liar and a fraud, and it was high time she let him know he wasn’t fooling her. Not for a moment.

Chapter 10

Mr Mortimer,

I thank you sincerely for the wonderful news regarding my latest novel, and for placing your trust in it. I am extremely pleased with both sales and your treatment of my work.

I must, however, disabuse you of any misunderstanding. I will never, under any circumstances, reveal my identity. Any attempt to discover who I am or reveal that truth will result in court action and an immediate end to my writing career. I hope I have made myself clear?

I regret to inform you I do not believe I shall continue the story of Melina Ravenheart. I am working on another title and will send you an outline and the first chapters when I have them ready.

Yrs, etc.