Wilde, Jennifer (2 page)

"My
father loved me," I interrupted.

"I've
no doubt he did. You were taught how to speak, how to dress, how to conduct
yourself like a proper young aristocrat. The barmaid's daughter disappeared,
replaced by an elegant young woman of fashion. He sent you away to school to
acquire those all-important finishing touches, hoping he might marry you off to
some respectable, middle class merchant..." Again he hesitated, toying
with me, hoping I would break down.

"But
it didn't work out that way," I said calmly. "My father died a few
weeks after I returned to Stanton Hall from school. His nephew, George Stanton,
became the eighth Duke of Stanton, inheriting everything. He found my presence
an embarrassment and threw me out. I had very little money, just enough to come
to London and take a room at one of the inns while I searched for work."

"And
then I hired you," he said.

"And
now?"

I
waited. Lord Mallory arched a brow, pretending surprise.

"Now?"
he repeated.

"Surely
you intend to dismiss me."

"Dismiss
you?" The brow lifted even higher. "My dear Marietta, I want to
help
you."

"Like
you helped Jenny?" I couldn't resist the question.

"Jenny.
Ah, that's a different story. The girl was ignorant, a common scullery maid who
dropped every 'h,' couldn't even read or write. I took pity on her... uh...
tried to make things a bit more pleasant for her. The girl was most
unappreciative. She became quarrelsome and possessive, thought my interest in
her gave her certain rights."

"So
you threw her out."

"You
needn't worry about Jenny. She'll find some man to take care of her—probably a
number of them. Her sort always ends up on the streets. It's inevitable."

I
was amazed at my own boldness, but I simply couldn't help myself. His arrogant
superiority was insufferable. Because he was wealthy, because he was an
aristocrat, he thought he could play God with those less fortunate in life, and
because he was an attractive male he thought he could automatically enslave any
woman he chose to notice. I could feel the color burning in my cheeks. Lord
Mallory chuckled.

"Spirit,"
he said. "I like that. A man enjoys a challenge every now and then."

"You
think—"

"I
think
you're quite a challenge, Marietta. I've had my eye on you for some time
now."

"I'm...
not like Jenny. I'm not one of your—"

"Of
course not," he interrupted. "You're very, very special. I saw that
from the first. I've been—a bit preoccupied with other things up till now, but
now I intend to pay more attention to you."

"I'm
afraid you'll be wasting your time, Lord Mallory."

"I
think not. You see, Marietta, I happen to know you're not the demure, timorous
young virgin you pretend to be."

He
smiled. He sauntered across the room toward me, stopping directly in front of
me. He was so close I could smell his cologne, smell the musky male odor of
flesh and perspiration. He was dressed for an evening on the town, and the elegant
attire seemed to heighten the aura of animal magnetism that clung to him.

"We're
going to be very good friends," he assured me.

"You're
mistaken, Lord Mallory."

Once
again the smile flashed. His eyes were filled with dark amusement. His face was
inches from my own, and I could see the tiny scar at the corner of that full,
curving mouth, see the faint smudges under his eyes. My heart was beating
rapidly, and I was trembling inside. I detested him and, yes, I was afraid of
him, too, but his nearness caused a purely physical response it was impossible
to deny.

"Leave
me alone," I whispered. "Please—"

"You
don't want that, not really. You've got your mother's blood in your veins. The
education, the fine manners, the cultured voice—they don't alter that fact. The
man I sent to make inquiries was exceedingly thorough. I found out all about
her. She was generous to a fault, never could resist a stripping young farmer,
a handsome sailor. You might even say it caused her death. If she and her
good-looking shepherd hadn't been out on the moors together, hadn't been caught
in that rainstorm—"

"How
dare you! You've no right to talk about her like—"

"You've
got her blood in your veins. You fight it. You're fighting it now, but it's
there."

A
lock of dark brown hair fell across his brow. He reached up to push it back.

"You're
beautiful, Marietta, much too good to be slaving away in a nursery. I have
plans for you—splendid plans. I'm going to make you happy. You've no idea how
happy..."

Slowly,
with lazy deliberation, he pulled me into his arms, and when I tried to pull
away he laughed softly to himself, tightening his grip. His eyes gleamed,
holding mine, and his wide lips parted as he tilted his head and pulled me
closer. I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could speak, his mouth
fastened over mine. It was a long, practiced kiss, his lips pressing, probing,
savoring my own. I was rigid in his arms, but as he continued to kiss me, the
weakness came and I melted against him, against my will, and when he finally
released me his eyes were dark with triumph.

"You
enjoyed that, love. Don't try to pretend you didn't."

"You
need a man. A woman like you—a woman like you will always need a man. That's
the way you're made. Those prim mannerisms, those drab dresses you wear— they
can't conceal what you are. You're ripe, ready to be plucked... and you're
hungry for it."

"I
am not! I—"

"You
may think not, my dear, but in a short while you're going to be most
grateful—"

Lady
Mallory cleared her throat. Lord Mallory turned around to see his wife standing
in the doorway. I hadn't noticed her before, had no idea how long she might
have been there. How much had she heard? How much had she seen? Her thin,
pinched face was expressionless, her eyes flat. She wore a white silk dress,
and there was a stunning emerald necklace around her throat. The jewels seemed
to flash with flickering green and blue fires, and their spectacular beauty
only made her neck seem scrawnier, her complexion more sallow. Her lusterless
blond hair was arranged on top of her head in an elaborate coiffure. Lady
Mallory was the epitome of current fashion, but, alas, the fashion did not suit
her.

"Here
you are, Robert," she said in a dry, colorless voice. "I've been
looking all over."

Her
husband was not at all ruffled. "I've been conferring with Miss
Danver," he replied smoothly. "About the children," he added.

"Of
course," she said.

She
looked at me with venomous blue eyes. Lady Mallory had disliked me from the
first, had raged at her husband for hiring someone so young, so inexperienced,
and as she scrutinized me now I could sense that she was going to do everything
in her power to get rid of me as soon as possible.

"We'd
best hurry, dear," she remarked.

"Uh...
yes. Wouldn't want to be late."

He
turned back to me for a moment, the mocking amusement still in his eyes. His
wife's open animosity delighted him, made him feel all the more confident of
his male prowess. There was a certain swagger about him as he spoke to me in a low,
barely audible voice.

"Alas,
love, I have to leave for the country in the morning. Family responsibility,
you know, but when I get back—"

He
left the sentence dangling, but his eyes were filled with seductive promise. He
touched my arm lightly, and then he sauntered across the room to join his wife.
She was tapping her foot impatiently on the floor, her eyes flashing, as they
moved down the hall her voice was angry and strident. I couldn't help
overhearing.

"At
it again, I see! The governess this time. Wasn't that pathetic little maid
enough? Must you humiliate me under my own roof? The actresses and courtesans
are bad enough, but when you—"

"I
told you I'd get rid of Jenny," he said wearily, "and I promised you
I'd spend a week in the country with you. Isn't that enough? Just because I
exchange a few words with the governess, you assume—"

"I
won't stand for it, Robert! I simply won't tolerate—"

"I'm
giving up important business engagements so that I can spend time with you and
the children away from London, and still you..."

They
moved on downstairs, and I could no longer distinguish what they were saying. A
minute later I heard the butler opening the front door, and outside the horse
hooves pounded on the cobblestones as the coachman brought the carriage around
from the mews in back of the house. There was a clatter or reins, the muted
sound of wheels spinning as the carriage moved away down the street. I stood
there in the nursery for a long time, numb, it seemed, drained of emotion.

I
knew how fortunate I was to have this post. I had decent wages, a comfortable
room, solid, nourishing food. If I lost it, if he dismissed me...
What am I
going to do?
I asked myself.
What am I going to do?

The
family had been gone for three days, and for three days I had been in a state
of suspension, safe, secure, but knowing that would end all too soon. Lord
Mallory would soon return and the inevitable would happen, and I had no idea
how I would handle things. It was late afternoon now. I was sitting out in the
gardens under the shade of a leafy elm. Only residents of the square were
allowed inside these lovely, elaborate gardens, each family possessing a key
that unlocked the side gate. I had shamelessly appropriated the Mallory key,
and as the afternoon sunlight slanted down in thin, fading rays, I thought of
all the curious twists of fate that had brought me to this point in my life.

I
had been a happy child. I had attended the village school, a bright student,
eager to learn, and if the other children shunned me and frequently taunted me,
that didn't matter at all. My mother and I lived in a small room upstairs at
the Red Lion, and there was always laughter and the sound of hearty voices, the
smell of fresh sawdust and ale, a rowdy, festive atmosphere prevailing. My
beautiful, vivacious, good-natured mother loved me, and she loved the taproom,
loved the men who constantly vied for her attention. She was earthy and
generous and utterly natural, and though many called her wicked, I knew that
wasn't so. As I grew older I frequently helped her behind the taps. I liked the
men, too, with their teasing ways and their compliments, but adroitly managed
to fend off any who tried to become too familiar.

I
remember my mother coming in that awful night, her auburn hair soaked, her
clothing clinging wetly to her voluptuous body. She kissed her handsome young
shepherd goodbye and wearily climbed the stairs to our room. She fell ill
almost immediately, and soon developed pneumonia. When she knew she was going
to die, she sent a message to my father, begging him to come for me and provide
for me in the future. He left Stanton Hall and came to the inn as soon as he
received her message. She held my hand and looked at him standing there at the
foot of the bed, and she smiled, knowing I was going to be cared for. She died
only minutes later, and I was desolate. It seemed my whole world had crumbled,
but my father took over then and provided another world to replace the one I
had lost.

The
Duke of Stanton had been a notorious rake at one time, a dashing,
devil-may-care buck who had scandalized the countryside with his outrageous
conduct, but that was all in the past. When I came to know him, he was in his
middle fifties, in poor health, a widower with sad brown eyes and silver hair,
delighted to have someone to care for after years of solitude in his splendid,
majestic old house. Caring not a fig what society might think, he took me in
with open arms and lavished attention on me. The house was filled with tutors
and dressmakers, and the barmaid's daughter was transformed into a proper young
blueblood. After a year or so, it was difficult to believe I had ever been
anything else.

I
had the finest education money could buy, and if my blood wasn't one hundred
percent blue, I was as refined as demure, as aristocratic as if I had been born
to my new surroundings. I soon came to love my father, as he came to love me,
and for four and a half years my life was a glorious euphoria. That, too, came
to an abrupt end. I returned home from school to find my father gravely ill,
his nephew, George Stanton, in attendance. George, who was overweight, sullen,
and mean in spirit, found my presence at Stanton Hall an embarrassment. Because
of the law of primogeniture, he would inherit Stanton Hall and everything that
went with it; still, he bitterly resented me. When my father had a sudden
stroke and died a few weeks later, George wasted no time in throwing me out. I
was not even permitted to attend the funeral.

I
had no choice but to try and find some kind of employment. Thanks to my
education, I had every qualification to become a governess, and I arrived in
London with only a few pounds to spare and two bags full of fine, expensive
dresses totally unsuitable for a would-be governess. I managed to sell a few of
them, replacing them with more sober garments, and the rest now hung uselessly
in the wardrobe in my room. I had applied for various positions, in vain. My
money was running out and I had almost given up hope when Lord Mallory took me
on as governess to his young son and daughter. Now... now I was in danger of
losing this post unless I let him have his way with me.