Cam found her in the schoolroom, standing amidst what
looked like the aftermath of a windstorm. Her boxes and
crates had been pried open and a dozen thick, well-worn
tomes and a stack of notebooks were scattered across the
desk. A wooden flute and small drum sat perched atop a
jumble of playthings.
Wellโ! It seemed his new governess was unpacking. Folding
his arms over his chest, he leaned one shoulder against
the frame of the open doorway. At first, Helene did not
see him, for she was rummaging about tattered portmanteau
which sat in the floor, her perfect rear-end tilted up
invitingly.
Good God, she was a beauty. Age had merely enhanced the
classic lines of her figure and the fine bones of her
face. Today, Helene was dressed in a shade of dark amber.
Just as yesterdayโs gown of deep purple had not been quite
black, the amber of her morning dress was not quite brown.
Apparently, Helene the Governess danced on the edge of
propriety where her wardrobe was concerned. And in some
other ways as well, he did not doubt.
Well, that was none of his business, was it? Helene was
somewhat past the first blush of youth, and no longer an
innocent, though the latter was partly his fault.
Suddenly, Helene straightened up from the portmanteau, one
hand pressed into the small of her back, the other
clutching a bedraggled doll. She looked exasperated and
pink-cheeked as she puffed upward at an unruly bit of hair
which had tumbled down to tease at her nose.
"Unpacking?" he asked softly.
For only the second time in his life, he saw Helene
blanch. "Unpacking?" she asked, aghast. "Indeed not! I am
repacking. Your footmen must have pried open these crates.
To be sure, I did not!"
Pulling himself away from the doorframe, he forced himself
to smile in spite of his discomfort. "Do not trouble
yourself about the open crates, ma'am. No harm has been
done."
She gave a little half curtsy. "I thank you, Caโmy lord. I
shall have these remaining things collected in a trice."
Stepping into the room, Cam tried to draw a deep
breath. "Youโyou mean to go then?" He kept his tone light,
but something seemed caught in his chest.
"Yes." She hesitated, her dark, finely arched brows
drawing inward in confusion. "I thought that was your
wish." Cam opened his mouth to reply, but Helene did not
pause. "And you are perfectly correct."
"Correct?" he echoed, his hands on his hips.
Helene bent down to shut the portmanteau and set it upon
the worktable. "In truth, I am not as . . . as comfortable
here as I had hoped I might be."
"Not comfortable?" Inexplicably, alarm shot through
him. "Have you not been treated well? Is your room
unsatisfactory? Is there something I canโ"
"There is nothing, I thank you," she interjected, turning
toward the desk and beginning to gather up the books that
had been uncrated. A box sat nearby, and she dropped the
first few into it.
From the corner of her eye, Helene watched Cam advance
toward the desk, his expression masked. Nonetheless, she
had the impression that he was displeased. But by what?
Had he not told her to go? Yet as he came closer, she
could feel the strength of some tightly controlled emotion
vibrating in the air around him.
Cam halted on the other side of the narrow desk, his hands
clasped behind his back. "Miss de Severs, I think I must
insistโ" He stopped abruptly and swallowed hard. "That is
to sayโI wish you to remain here. As you said, I must put
Arianeโs needs first."
Helene dropped another book into the box. "But my lord,"
she protested despairingly, "youโve already said my
staying would be imprudent. And quite rightly! Mrs.
Naffles has recognized meโand inquired after Maman, too!
In time, someone may even mention ourโ"
"Nothing will be mentioned, Miss de Severs," he coldly
interrupted. "No one here knows anything, and if they did,
they would not dare speak of it."
Helene felt a flash of prideful anger. "Nonetheless, my
questionable backgroundโ"
"โis my business. I do not suffer gossips or mischief-
makers amongst my staff."
"Yes, my lord, but as we discussedโ"
"And as for Mrs. Naffles, given my fatherโs escapades, all
else pales by comparison. This household is all but inured
to scandal."
"I . . . but you saidโ"
"Never mind what I said, Miss de Severs," he snapped.
Helene watched his mouth pull into a tight, thin line as
he folded his arms across the wide plane of his
chest. "Just do the job youโve been employed to do, and we
shall all be well pleased."
Helene braced her fingertips lightly on the desk, intently
studying Camโs expression. Again, she felt confusion war
with humiliation. She was not this manโs dog, to be
ordered to go or sit or stay at his whim! Certainly she
did not want his charity. As for her reputation, he had
been the first to voice his concern about it. And it still
hurt.
"My lord, I would have you suffer no embarrassment on my
account," Helene answered stiffly. "I came only because I
had agreed to Mr. Brightsmithโs bargain." She moved as if
to turn away from the table.
Swiftly, as if to force her to his will, Camโs hand came
down to cover hers, squeezing her fingers far too
hard. "Do not put words into my mouth, Helene," he
answered in a voice that was suddenly low and rough. "I
did not say that I was embarrassed by our . . .
friendship. You will refrain from using that word again."
Abruptly, Cam lifted his hand away, only to reach into the
box and draw out the books. One by one, he began
resolutely stacking them atop the desk, as if the matter
were resolved. A wicked stubbornness took hold of her
then, and Helene moved to grab the books once more.
Cam sprang like a cat, leaning into her, slapping his
broad hands on top of the stack, and anchoring it to the
desk. "Stop it, Helene," he said, a little too
softly. "Look at me. Look at me, Helene!"
Helene lifted her eyes in a bold challenge, stubbornly
locking them with his. "Let go of my books, if you
please," she coldly enunciated. "You are hurting my
fingers."
"I want you to stay," he demanded.
"Do you indeed?" She lifted her chin a notch higher. "But
what of my lax morals? My wicked French blood? And let us
not forget that carefree continental lifestyle I have been
living!"
Cam looked at her coldly. "That is your business, Helene.
I have not thrown it in your face. I want you to stay."
His acceptance further angered her. "I am a servant, my
lord, not a slave,"
"Damn it, stop parrying words with me, Helene!" Cam hissed
through gritted teeth. "I am no longer your biddable
swain, to be led about at your whim. It would be unwise to
press the issue."
Helene still grasped the books, her fingers squashed
beneath them. She should have pulled away, leaned back
from him, but her fingers were trapped beneath the stack.
Or so she told herself. Yet Cam would not break his gaze
from her own. He looked so different now; far more
hardened than she had ever remembered. "I am not parrying
with anyone, sir!" she retorted, dropping her eyes to the
stack of books.
As he leaned over her, Camโs face drew so near that Helene
could feel the warmth of his breath as it stirred the
wisps of hair around her forehead. And she could smell
him, too. Cam, and the heat of his anger, mingled with the
sharp, clean scent of shaving soap. In the implacability
of his grip, Helene could sense a ruthless energy which
she did not recognize. She could feel the intensity of his
stare. She did not know this man. And yet, he was so near,
she knew that if she looked back up at him now, her
forehead would almost certainly brush his chin, and their
lips would be far too close.
"I apologize," he said stiffly. "I wish you would stay."
Angry at the path her thoughts were taking, Helene yanked
her hands free from the books, raking a little skin off
one knuckle. Turning to face the wall behind the desk, she
drew the wounded hand to her mouth. She was beginning to
suspect just what this might be about, and it sickened
her.
Cam wanted her. But he was ashamed of the wanting.
Suddenly, a faint, muffled sneeze fractured the precarious
silence.
Camโs stern gaze swiveled toward a wide, old fashioned
corner cupboard which appeared to have been built into the
walls of the schoolroom.
"Ariane," he said, in a surprisingly gentle voice. "Come
out of the cupboard, sweet."
Immediately, all thoughts of what had just passed between
them fled from Heleneโs mind. Cam strode across the
schoolroom and tugged open the lower half of the door.
Inside, a fair-haired, wraith-like child was curled up in
the empty bottom, her knees tucked neatly beneath her
chin. The girl made no sound whatsoever.
Without comment, Cam leaned down and offered his hand.
Blinking against the sudden light, the child reached out
obediently to take it, then with obvious reluctance,
clambered out. Helene was surprised to see that her tiny
feet were bare of shoes or stockings. Her hair was in wild
disarray.
Quietly, Cam knelt down to gather the child into his arms
then stood up, staring over the girlโs tousled blonde hair
to catch Heleneโs gaze. The unguarded pain in his eyes
pierced her in a way his angry words could never have
done.
The little girl turned her face into her fatherโs starched
neckcloth, refusing to look at Helene. "Ariane," said Cam
in a calm, matter of fact tone, "this is your new
governess, Miss de Severs."
"Good morning, Ariane," said Helene brightly, taking her
cue from Cam.
Urging her face deeper into the folds of her fatherโs
cravat, the child tightened her grip on her
father. "Sweetie," said Cam softly, "please look at Miss
de Severs. Give her just a little smile, hmm?"
After a long moment, Ariane half turned to look at Helene
through one narrow eye, but no smile was forthcoming. The
childโs fine, curling hair was so blonde as to be very
nearly white, and her eyesโat least the one Helene could
seeโwas a startling shade of blue against her pink, almost
translucent, skin. Her face was round, sweet, and utterly
beautiful. The whole effect was ethereal, as though she
were an angel instead of a real child.
"Donโt worry, Ariane," she said, placing one hand lightly
on the girlโs thin shoulder. "I am sure you must be weary
of training new governesses. I shall try to learn quickly."
The girl gave Helene what might have been a weak smile,
but at that moment, a young servant materialized in the
open doorway, a pair of tiny slippers clutched in her
hand. "Oh, beg pardon, mโlord! She bobbed
perfunctorily. "I went to fetch her shoes, and when I
turned me back, she disappeared."
Fondly, he gave the girl a fatherly swat on the rear. "Go
with Martha, imp! Finish dressing so that I may see you
with your socks and shoes at luncheon!"
Helene watched as the pair left the room and disappeared
down the corridor. In the emptiness which remained, it
felt as though a cold breeze had swept into the room,
returning with it the uneasiness which had previously
lingered between them. Behind her, she heard books sliding
back and forth, as if Cam was sorting through the pile on
the desk, but she did not immediately turn around.
"Well," he said at last, his voice sad. "You see howโhow
unwell she is, Miss de Severs."
Helene spun about to face him. "What I see a very
frightened child, my lord. Whether there is anything more
to it than that I cannot yet say."
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