A Night of Redemption (The Night Series Book 2), Page 3

  “This is Charles, he’s twelve.” Mrs. Turner nodded and the oldest boy took a step forward, glared at Beth, his brown eyes flashing with defiance, then moved back into line. Thanks to being her brother’s confidant for so many years she guessed that this Charles was embarrassed about having a governess at his age.

  “We call him Charlie.”

  Beth folded her hands primly in front of her. “Nice to meet you, Charlie.”

  “Charles,” he snapped back.

  Beth merely lifted a brow, amused by his pride when she should have been worried.

  Mrs. Turner pressed on. “And this is John.”

  The next boy stepped forward, his face stoic, as if he planned to take whatever may come like a man. John’s hair was as red as a beet, freckles covering his pale face and wire-rimmed glasses over hazel eyes. “I am not pleased to meet you.”

  Beth resisted the urge to laugh.

  Mrs. Turner picked up a discarded nightgown, placing it on the bed as if she hadn’t heard him. Perhaps she was embarrassed by his rude manner, or she was so used to their comments she hadn’t even noticed.

  “He’s ten. Then there’s Oliver.” Oliver, with his blond hair, blue eyes, and wickedly charming grin was, no doubt, a natural born rake. Probably most like his father in temperament, if not in looks. “Oliver is eight.”

  Oliver actually winked at her, the little cad.

  “And last is Thomas, or Tommy, who is six.”

  The sweet, little round boy lifted his lips into a snarl, his bottom teeth missing. But he didn’t worry her overly much. She knew that as the oldest, Charlie and John would be most difficult to win over.

  “Ye will be responsible fer all four boys.” When Beth made no sign of distress, as Mrs. Turner had apparently hoped, the older woman sighed and relented, hefting her carpet bag from the floor. “I’ll take this to yer room. Yer trunk should be arriving shortly. Get comfortable with each other,” Mrs. Turner called out over her shoulder. “I’m sure ye will all get along quite well indeed.”

  Indeed. She didn’t miss the sarcastic drawl to the woman’s statement. Beth watched the housekeeper disappear into the room, abandoning her. She had a feeling she had done it on purpose. Leave her to the wolves so she would know exactly what she was getting from the very beginning. Slowly, she turned her attention to the boys. They stood there, watching, waiting, scheming.

  “I’m Mrs. Church.”

  “You’re ugly,” Thomas hissed.

  The other boys snickered.

  What a lovely introduction. “Yes, well, I was born this way. Not much I can do about that.” She paced in front of them, her boots tapping against the floorboards and stirring clouds of dust into the air. The room needed a thorough cleaning, and then the boys. “But your obvious lack of manners… now that we can do something about.”

  They frowned, no doubt expecting a different reaction. If they believed she’d lie down and take their abuse, they’d see. Never again. Still, the repeated warning from the housekeeper and their father, along with their obvious lack of respect worried her. If they could be this cruel the moment they met, how would they react when they were comfortable in her presence?

  “Now then, tomorrow we’ll start lessons—”

  “I’m too old for lessons,” Charlie grumbled, crossing his arms over his scrawny chest.

  “Me too,” Oliver said, the charming grin gone.

  “And me!” the youngest added.

  The only one who didn’t reply was John who was too busy pushing his glasses up his nose. “What sort of lessons?”

  Was that interest she noted in his hazel eyes? “Manners, of course.”

  They grumbled and glared. Beth fought her grin.

  “Mathematics.”

  They started shifting and sighing, no doubt thinking of ways to dispose of her body. She must remember to lock her door at night.

  “Writing and spelling as well.”

  They glanced around the room, as if looking for a way to escape. They might have been planning her demise, but she had her own ways to torture them back.

  “They are the basics, and one must know the basics.”

  “Dreadful,” Oliver grumbled.

  “Yes.” Beth sighed long and loud, drawing out the dramatics. She tapped her booted foot for a few long moments, crossed her arms over her chest and watched them carefully. She hadn’t been this amused in a long while. “But I suppose…we could… maybe go exploring.”

  Four heads jerked her way. Yes, definitely interest.

  “What do you mean?” John asked, his voice laced with suspicion. They didn’t trust her. How many adults had betrayed them to issue such wariness in their young eyes? How she understood betrayal, very well indeed.

  She picked up a wooden soldier who was missing his head. “My brother was an explorer, you know.”

  When no one responded, she peeked at them through her lashes. Yes, that was curiosity gleaming in their eyes, but also suspicion. They didn’t believe her. They certainly didn’t like her. But that was of no concern. She had a position, food and a place to hide. And as a governess it would be so easy to remain anonymous. Neither accepted by the servants, nor by the house, she would blend into the shadows.

  “Where’d he explore?” Charlie finally demanded.

  “India, Africa. All sorts of places.” She settled the headless soldier upon a chest. “He died of malaria three years ago.”

  She realized quite suddenly that she could actually say the words without flinching. Three years. It seemed like a lifetime ago. It seemed as if his entire existence had been some fantastical dream. Perhaps he’d never truly been real. But the memories…they were real. They were all she had. How many wonderful times they’d spent together, exploring their own garden as if it was the wilds of Asia. But he had left her alone to seek his own adventures, and she’d married because as a woman she’d had no other choice. Funny enough, both of their adventures had turned into a nightmare; he had died and she might as well have followed.

  Mrs. Turner came huffing into the room, her gaze sweeping over the group as if expecting to find casualties, at the very least injuries. “Well then, Mrs. Church, I’ve settled ye in yer chamber if ye’d like to take a look.”

  “I shall tell you about my brother later, shall I?”

  Charlie shrugged indifferently, as if he didn’t care. The boys, seeing his reaction, followed suit. But she knew the male species well enough to know they were interested. Hopefully it would be enough to gain a little of their attention, if not a little of their respect.

  Smiling, Beth dared to turn her back to them. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all. “Tomorrow at nine in the morning we start.”

  They grumbled and moaned, and this time she did laugh.

  Mrs. Turner stood in the narrow doorway, watching her closely, obviously still worried about Beth’s dire future. Apparently she had quite a few people to impress before she’d be fully accepted. No worries. She would be here for at least six months. She had to be, she had nowhere else to go.

  “Ye have a door that leads into their room, as well as one into the hall.”

  “Wonderful.” She glanced around the tiny bedchamber. “Two ways to escape, should the need arise.”

  Mrs. Turner didn’t laugh at her jest. Meg would have laughed. Her dear friend had told her long ago to never, under any circumstances, allow children to see your weakness, and so she forced her lips to remain upturned even while thoughts of home weighed heavily down upon her, like a sodden blanket she couldn’t quite shove aside. She hadn’t wanted to flee her town and her few friends, but feared if she stayed she would ruin not only her life, but the lives of those she loved.

  “Ye will eat downstairs with the servants.”

  “Yes,” Beth replied, barely listening.

  Meg had always been there for her, Meg had been the one to find a way for Beth to escape the accusations. But Meg was no longer a mere field away. Beth was completely and utterly alone.

&n
bsp; “As soon as it dies down, you’ll return,” Meg’s words whispered temptingly through her mind, a memory that had kept her going these long days. It was the only thing she had.

  Yet, Beth knew better. Unless Meg uncovered the truth, she couldn’t contact her friend again. Ever.

  “As I said,” Mrs. Turner interrupted her thoughts. “Isn’t much, but it will do.”

  Beth nodded. Small, with white-washed walls and a narrow cot against the far corner, the area was surprisingly clean. She was safe…for now. And for a moment, at least, she could rest. “It will do just fine.”

  “Very well. The nursemaid will see the lads to bed. I assume yer tired, so for tonight I’ll send a tray up to yer room.”

  “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

  Without a goodnight, the older woman returned to the boys. Mrs. Turner did not seem to want her here. The boys certainly despised her. Even Lord Brimley said she didn’t belong. She would prove them all wrong…she had to.

  A roof over her head, food, warm bed…a place to hide. She should be grateful. She would be grateful.

  She sighed, leaning against the door jamb and feeling a twinge of melancholy. Merely a twinge, for she would allow herself no more than that.

  She could hear the soft murmur of voices coming from the nursery, and although she couldn’t hear the exact words, she knew Mrs. Turner was threatening the lads to behave. Thunder rumbled outside, rattling the windows. She stepped into her small room and closed the door, giving herself the moment of privacy she so desperately needed.

  It was a tiny space that would have worked better for storage, and God willing she would remain here for the next six months. Still, it was her own room and she would enjoy the space.

  She was safe here, she had to remind herself.

  Safe.

  So why, when she thought of Lord Brimley, did she feel anything but secure?

  ****

  The night air was cool and refreshing as it shifted through his thick hair. Nate tilted his head back and closed his eyes, savoring the moment. The dark woods provided shelter from prying neighbors. He would not be seen here.

  He stood on the border of his property, his senses attuned to the world around him. He knew there was a hare not twenty feet away hidden under a fallen tree. A deer stood in the clearing just beyond the woods. And a nightingale rested on the branch above. But he wasn’t interested in the prey around him. No, he had something else in mind. He breathed deep and caught her scent… spring, warmth and woman. The perfume of her skin sent his senses spinning.

  Soundlessly his feet padded against the damp earth as he made his way into the woods, peering through the underbrush, attempting to deduce shadow from light. She was close, so very close.

  A flash of white… utter brilliance in the darkness. Her scent grew stronger.

  Nate froze, his instincts flaring to life. His hunger intensified, an insatiable need to feed, to mate…hell, he wasn’t sure what he wanted. The desire pounded through his body, overtaking any humanity left within his dark soul. Damn it all, he’d told her to stay inside. Why the bloody hell hadn’t she listened to him? She would pay. They always paid.

  She strolled through the woods completely unconcerned, humming a tune that seemed vaguely familiar…something from childhood…something that reminded him of innocence lost. Her hair was long and loose, fluttering on the cool night breeze, whispering seductively across the gown she wore, a gown that practically glowed. She was moonlight personified.

  She was lovely, and she would be his.

  But she was nervous. She paused by a small creek and glanced back, her eyes glimmering under the light of the stars. He didn’t move, barely breathed. Perhaps she sensed him, but she wouldn’t see him until it was too late. She turned back toward the stream and he was finally given the opportunity he needed. But he waited just a moment longer. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply one last time, savoring her scent. His body quivered. So sweet, so innocent, so afraid.

  She should be.

  He moved forward, the leaves crunching softly under his footfalls, so softly that a human would never notice. The wind swept through the trees sending pink petals upon the ground, as if to cushion his fall. Nature worked in his favor. It was spring, and his hunger was insatiable. It gnawed at his gut, clenched at his muscles, begged him to attack. But he had to be careful, silent and stealthy enough not to warn her.

  A branch snapped under his foot. Nate cursed his clumsiness.

  Mrs. Church turned, her white skirts flaring wide, her face full of panic. “Who is there?”

  He had been right. She was lovely with her hair down. The stubborn tilt of her chin was gone, her face seemed fuller. This close, she was beautiful. Each harsh breath she took raised her soft breasts until the hard points of her nipples rubbed against her nightgown. She knew he was there. There was no need to sneak up on her now. No, instead he moved into the clearing, bold as you please.

  Her luminous eyes went wide with a fear that fed the animal within. A scream escaped her full lips. Clutching her skirts she turned and raced toward the field. The beast inside him clamored to life. Even if he had wanted to, he couldn’t stop himself from going after her. The game had started and he knew he would win. He bolted forward, the air shifting through his hair, his lips lifting into a growl that vibrated his entire being. She made it to the field, the grass glowing silver in the moonlight like tiny little dagger blades. The deer jumped, startled by the fear it sensed. It had this chance to escape and would take it for he knew Nate had other prey in mind.

  Nate leapt over a log and raced through the field. She stumbled in her haste to escape and plummeted to the ground. It was all he needed. Her cry rang through the air as sweet as church bells as she lay hidden within the silver grass. Euphoria swept through him. He had won, but then he always did. His body tightened, his muscles bunching. In one fell swoop he jumped. His feet landed on either side of her head. Panting, he gazed down into her pale face.

  Beth’s eyes met his and she screamed.

  Nate jerked awake, bolting upright. It took a long, heart-thundering moment for him to realize he was in his bedchamber…not in the field outside his windows. He tore the sheets away, tossing them to the floor. He still wore his shirtsleeves and trousers, and the material clung to his sweaty skin in a tight hug.

  “Just a dream,” he muttered to himself, tearing open the shirt so the buttons flew across the room, pinging against the stone floor. “A nightmare.”

  He hadn’t chased her, intent on killing the woman. Just a dream, but it had felt so real. It could have been real, and that’s what terrified him the most. He placed his feet on the floor, the cold stone cooling his overheated body. The room was dark, the night full of mystery. His own racing heart thundered madly in his ears but he could still hear her screams, an echo of a memory.

  “No,” he muttered, stumbling from his bed. “No.”

  He tore open the curtains. Moonlight burst into the room, a mocking, glowing crescent. That moon knew what he was, knew the power it held over him. Yet, at the same time the light calmed his tortured soul, even as it fed the beast within. Perhaps tonight he could run…just once.

  Trembling, he stumbled toward the fireplace where a large mirror hung above the mantel. Enough light so he could see himself: pale face, dark hair, human. No monster…yet. Merely a man haunted by a nightmare, by himself.

  He leaned his palms against the mantel. It had been a dream. In a couple weeks he would be out there amongst the stars and moonlight. But she…she would be here, locked away from harm. Away from him, he would make sure of it. So why did his heart still race? Why did fear taste bitter against his tongue? Because deep down he knew what he was capable of. Nate closed his eyes, his hands fisting. He was a monster, not fit for this life.

  He turned, intending to go to the sideboard and pour himself a healthy dose of brandy when a sudden scream interrupted the stillness of the castle. Nate froze. For a brief moment he thought he’d dreamt the s
ound. But no, it was real… all too real and it was coming from the third floor.

  In three strides he was at the door. He knew, without a doubt, the scream had been Mrs. Church. He shouldn’t go. He shouldn’t. He was a damn idiot for leaving his room, but suddenly Nate found himself bolting up two flights of stairs until he was in the attic space reserved for children and servants.

  Stupid, stupid idiot. He was bloody mad to be here. Halfway down the hallway, he paused, sensing movement in the dark shadows. His nostrils flared, his instincts on alert. Female. Small. Not Mrs. Church.

  “Who goes there?” he demanded.

  “My…my lord,” someone whispered. A tiny mouse of a maid stepped into the moonlight coming through the open window. “I was merely checking on the new governess. I thought I heard her call out from down the hall.”

  “I’ll worry about my staff. Go to bed.”

  “Yes, my lord.” She dropped into a curtsey, and then scurried back into the darkness, headed toward her room at the far end. He’d frightened her, he could sense her pulse pounding. Hell, he frightened most of the staff. But it was better they feared him, for he wouldn’t have to worry about them getting underfoot. Only Mrs. Turner and his butler Reynolds knew the truth. He was a monster.

  In the middle of the hall Nate paused. The space reeked of innocence, smelled of children and the past. His boys played here every day, yet he rarely visited. The nursery held too much pain, too much regret, too many memories. He rested his hand on the knob and gently pushed the door wide. The boys were in bed, their little forms huddled under the covers, their breathing deep and even. Sweet boys, if a bit rambunctious. He cared for them, he did. But did he love them? Had he truly ever loved anyone? Hell, he didn’t know how to love.

  “Father?” Tommy whispered from the darkness.

  His heart clenched even though he didn’t want to feel. He had no right to them, had no right to care. “Yes?” his voice came out gruff and strained. “What is it?”