Page 44 of To Dare the Devil

She blinked, froze, her green eyes wide with shock. Then she flew at him, closing the short distance between them, throwing her arms about his neck and holding on tight.

“Louis!” she whispered, and for the first time in forever, he could breathe again.

Chapter 14

Dearest Grace,

Please forgive me for my tardy reply. So much is happening of late. The days fly past me.

Yes, I am working on the school Eliza is building, though it is being financed by an anonymous donor. In fact, it is he I am working for, and the job is challenging and surprising and very exciting. There are certainly troublesome men to deal with, but I am helping to build something wonderful with my employer’s help, and not just with the school. He is quite a remarkable man. I confess I had grave doubts about him to begin with, for his reputation is not a good one, but he seems determined to make amends for his past and I can only admire him for it. I hold him in the highest regard.

Oh, I have so much to tell you. Will you be in town soon? I know Sterling cannot leave the farm often, but it has been so long since we have seen you and darling little Betty. She must be so grown up now. Surely you will come and visit your parents soon? Do let me know if you are and we shall arrange a visit.

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Kathleen de Beauvoir (adopted daughter of Mr Inigo and Mrs Minerva de Beauvoir) to Mrs Grace Oak (daughter of Solomon and Jemima Weston, Baron and Lady Rothborn).

19th June 1842, Vane Hall, Chiswick, London.

Max stared down at the papers on his desk, but he didn’t see them. Morning light was streaming in through the open windows, promising a bright day. With a sigh, he tried to wrestle his brain away from thoughts of Miss de Beauvoir at the concert last night. He ought to be working, he reminded himself, though he’d been working all night and had not actually been to bed at all. That was what he was here for, though, to make up for lost time and so very much wickedness. Work, yes. Get on with it.

He stared at the papers, but his eyes blurred with fatigue, and he rubbed them irritably.

There was a knock, which he ignored, and a moment later, Jarvis came in bearing a tray. His staff were becoming somewhat insubordinate of late, he noticed, for he’d specifically said he was not to be disturbed.

“I didn’t order breakfast.”

“Forgive me, my lord, but you’ve been working all night. The staff are worried for you, so I took the liberty.”

Max stared at his starchy butler, too surprised to say a word. The man had never liked him, not that he’d cared before. He had never even noticed his staff; they were just there, doing things he needed done, and he’d believed he’d paid them well to do it. That had changed. He noticed them now. He’d noticed a good deal that was wrong in their world, too, and done his best to put things right, but he’d never expected appreciation. They ought not to have been living and working in such conditions in the first place. He had certainly never expected them to like him for it… or to care. His throat grew tight, and he had to clear it before he could speak.

“Thank you. All of you, that was most thoughtful. I could eat something,” he lied.

The man nodded and carefully set the tray down. He prepared a cup of coffee for Max before straightening again.

Max smiled, something he would never have done before, let alone offer his thanks. You did not thank servants. “Thank you, Jarvis.”

The butler hesitated and then spoke again. “I would like to say, on behalf of all the staff, that we are proud of everything you are doing. You have made changes for us that have not gone unrecognised. The building of the new school, your visit to the workhouse, these things we are not supposed to know about, but we do, and we are proud to work for you.”

Max was speechless with surprise, but Jarvis simply bowed and strode out without saying a word.

He let out an unsteady laugh. Well, that… that was nice. Max wondered what Miss de Beauvoir would say about it, and then reminded himself he wasn’t supposed to think about Miss de Beauvoir. He ought to find her another job, something as challenging as this, where she could put her talents to good use, but far away from him. It was the only way. He realised that now. It was impossible to be around her, to be close to her, and not take advantage. His dreams were heated visions of her slender naked body, his hands and mouth exploring her most secret places, teaching her to be as wicked as he knew how until she screamed his name, begging for more.

Max closed his eyes, forcing the images away as desire stirred in his blood. Miss de Beauvoir was innocent, and she would remain that way. He would not taint her with his touch, with his base desires. Yet if he was forever in her proximity, eventually, he would kiss her, and she was too sweet, too vulnerable. He would hurt her, because that was what he did, even when he didn’t mean to do it, apparently. She had been hurt last night, on his account of all things, the foolish girl. He had seen the regret in her eyes, her annoyance with Blackstone for treating Max as he had. Not that he blamed the marquess in the least; Blackstone knew Max was a threat to her happiness and safety. Max had even been grateful to discover a powerful man looking out for her, because he could not protect her. Not from himself.

He set the coffee cup down, untouched, and stared into its depths, unseeing. Perhaps when he had finished with the school, he would go away. He’d make certain the changes were in progress to the workhouse first, but that project would be safe in Miss de Beauvoir’s hands, and he would find good people to ensure her success. Yes, perhaps rather than moving Miss de Beauvoir, he would move himself. No doubt there were troubles enough on his estate in Warwickshire to deal with. Perhaps he could persuade Burt and Pike to go with him, so he did not feel so very alone. But no, that was selfishness. They had their lives, their friends, here in London, though he intended to persuade Burt to stop being so damned stubborn and get them into a better property, a safer place to live, perhaps with a garden. Burt would like that, he thought.

Another knock at the door sounded, and he didn’t look up at once, assuming his butler had gone rogue and would come in by himself again.

“My lord.”

His heart jolted in his chest, and his eyes flew to the young woman standing in the doorway, as though he had summoned her with the force of his longing. Max leapt to his feet, gazing at her in shock.

“I beg your pardon.” Miss de Beauvoir gaped at him, wide-eyed. “Am I disturbing you?”

Max shook his head, belatedly realising why she was staring at him with such an astonished expression. Lord, but he was half dressed. He’d discarded his coat, waistcoat, and cravat last night. He looked about remembering too late he’d rid himself of them before entering his study. Max raked a hand through his hair and began rolling down his sleeves.

“Forgive me, Miss de Beauvoir, I was not expecting visitors.”

“No, the fault is entirely mine for barging in on you. I’m afraid I persuaded Jarvis that it was a matter of great urgency. I think he’s rather scandalised, but I confess I am relieved to see you looking less than perfect.”