The Companion's Secret. Susanna Craig

bowed his head once more, and glints of copper shown in his brown hair as it swept forward to obscure his expression, though not before she caught a glimmer of amusement and, perhaps, approval there. “The pleasure, Miss Burke, is all mine.”

      The snap of Lady Merrick’s fan prevented Cami’s reply. Although she could still hear the echo of her foolish words in her burning ears, everyone else seemed determined to behave as if she had not spoken them.

      “I wonder whether it will be fine again tomorrow?” Mr. Fox asked conversationally, returning to safer ground, the color in his cheeks the only indication of his dismay at her behavior.

      But Cami could not shake the feeling that she had played right into Lord Ashborough’s hand—and that alarmed her. When the others had returned to their conversation, she said, “Mr. Fox, may I ask you a question?”

      He shifted slightly in his chair. “A gentleman may never refuse a lady, Miss Burke.”

      Although her claim to such a distinction was dubious, she pressed forward. “You said you befriended Lord Ashborough when he was alone and miserable. What had happened to make him so?”

      Mr. Fox paled and his darting gray glance took in both Felicity and his friend. “Do you mean to say you do not know?”

      She bit her lip and shook her head. “Please, Mr. Fox. If he is not an appropriate acquaintance for my cousin to cultivate, surely you—as a man of God—must see that it’s only fitting to reveal what you know.” The plea was driven by concern—concern mixed with an unaccustomed degree of plain curiosity.

      Without denying the truth of her claim, Mr. Fox nonetheless hesitated. “The boys at school gave Ash a wide berth, Miss Burke. Most people still do.” He lifted his chin warningly, but his voice was so low she had to lean forward to hear him. “You see, when he was just ten years old, he killed his father.”

      Chapter 2

      Gabriel could tell by the expression on Miss Burke’s face just what Fox must have said to her.

      He did not blame his friend for revealing that horrible truth about his past. Fox was unfailingly honest, and he would never have had it any other way.

      Besides, everyone already knew what he had done.

      No, if there was blame to be cast, it ought to fall squarely on Lady Merrick’s shoulders—she who must have known what lay at the root of his ruined reputation and said nothing to warn her niece. Perhaps not even her daughter, though the girl looked nothing short of terrified of him.

      Then again, Lady Merrick was still quite young. Just past forty, he guessed. Fair and lovely, like her daughter, she herself might have been the object of his attention under different circumstances. She would not have been the first neglected wife with whom he had amused himself during the Season. Perhaps the countess really did not know what he had done. Perhaps the decade or more of scandal surrounding him had at long last created a cloud that obscured his original sin—though nothing could blot it out entirely, to be sure.

      Abruptly, he rose from his chair. “You will excuse me, Lady Felicity. Fox and I are in danger of overstaying our welcome. We should go.”

      She murmured an obligatory protest that sounded to him more like a sigh of relief. “So soon?”

      What in God’s name was he doing here? Was he really the sort of man who destroyed the blush of some innocent blossom for his own base needs?

      But of course, the answer was yes. He had been destroying the guiltless since the hour of his birth, after all.

      So he smiled into her wide, worried eyes and asked, “If the weather stays fair, Lady Felicity, would you be disposed to join me for a stroll in the park tomorrow at four?”

      As was proper, she glanced at her mother. “Felicity will be only too happy to go, my lord,” the countess confirmed. Merrick had assured him that both his wife and daughter would happily accede to his wishes, whatever they were. But then, as if to spite that promise, Lady Merrick added, “Miss Burke will accompany her.” Underscoring his mistress’ lazy-sounding drawl, her pug lifted his head from her lap and yawned until his tongue curled and his mouth stretched in a wide grin.

      The very last thing Gabriel needed was a clumsy spinster peering at him disapprovingly over her spectacles while he attempted to win over Lady Felicity. Not that his victory was in doubt. But Merrick had asked him, “as a gentleman,” to take a few days to court the girl before making her an offer, to make her feel as if she were something more than a pawn, as if she had some choice in the matter. The novelty of the request, of the notion that anyone might imagine him to be a gentleman, had caught Gabriel off his guard, and he had assented to Merrick’s request without thinking the matter through.

      Now, given what she had just been told, would he have to win over Miss Burke as well?

      The woman in question leaped to her feet and preceded the men to the door, her light step and lithe figure insufficiently disguised by the sort of ugly, ill-fitting dress that lady’s companions—or rather, the ladies who employed them—seemed to favor. In the hallway, she lifted their hats one by one from the table where some other servant had laid them.

      “Will you be joining us tomorrow, Mr. Fox?” she asked, not meeting Gabriel’s eye.

      “If you wish it, ma’am.”

      “My wishes are never consulted on such matters,” she replied with a shake of her head. Heavy raven locks threatened to spill from the pins that only just managed to contain them. With her black hair and bright eyes, she was really quite striking, albeit in a thoroughly un-English way.

      “Perhaps they should be,” Gabriel said. As he reached for his hat, his gloved fingertips brushed her bare ones where they held the brim. Lady Felicity would have flinched at the contact. Miss Burke did not.

      With a tip of his head, Gabriel turned to accompany Fox out the door. On the threshold he glanced over his shoulder, but Miss Burke’s gaze had not followed them. She was speaking quietly to a footman, who handed over some piece of correspondence—not on a tray, as would have been proper, but surreptitiously, as if the note contained something she would not want others to see.

      “Lady Felicity does not disappoint, I trust?” Fox asked when they reached the bottom of the steps.

      “She is precisely what I expected her to be.”

      A perfect specimen of English womanhood. Replete with china doll charms—golden ringlets, rather vacant blue eyes. And young. Very young. She would be biddable, he had been assured. A virtuous Sophie to his jaded, world-weary Emile.

      But young, biddable ladies had never been Gabriel’s style.

      “You, on the other hand, must have thoroughly shocked her,” Fox scolded. “I must say, your society manners could use a bit of polish. Your behavior toward her cousin, for instance. Why, one supposes Miss Burke is little more than a poor relation.”

      A poor relation. Overlooked, in other words. Disregarded.

      Vulnerable.

      “Her position in the household no doubt entirely dependent upon her aunt’s sufferance.” Fox’s rebuke was gaining momentum. “And you all but called her a flirt—!”

      Gabriel lifted one brow, assessing the tone as much as the words themselves. It was in Fox’s nature to play the knight to a damsel in distress. But if her conduct in the drawing room was any guide, Miss Burke seemed to have more in common with the dragon in that tale. So was Fox defending her, or himself?

      Although his behavior could hardly be described as flirtatious, the simple fact remained that Fox usually tended toward a rather wooden demeanor around young women. Not, of course, that Miss Burke was precisely young.

      “You will walk with us tomorrow, I hope?” Gabriel asked, echoing her invitation. “The lady in question seemed to desire it.” He needed a way to distract and divert Miss Burke. Fox would do admirably. When he did not immediately reply, Gabriel pushed further. “What