What a Gentleman Desires. Kasey Michaels

      “Downing Street,” Daisy breathed, a tight fist squeezing her heart as her supposition was confirmed. “You teased me with Downing Street. You...you thought I was some...some sort of spy for the government? Spying on Lord Mailer? On you, for pity’s sake?” She clapped her hands to her chest. “A spy? Me?”

      “Presumptive, assuming fool that I am, yes, I did. God’s teeth, everything you’ve said is the truth, I can see it clearly now. You’re a governess and I’m...I am who I am, let’s say that, shall we—an interested party. But let’s buck up and get past all that, shall we?”

      “Buck up? After what you’ve just said? You ask a lot, Mr. Redgrave. But you do believe me. Finally. Why?”

      “Like one of my dogs with a marrow bone. All right, but quickly. I believe you because no one could feign the pure shock and horror I just saw in your eyes, not even me. Forgive me for frightening you needlessly, but in my defense, you did refuse to listen. And forgive me yet again for now begging that we meet once more, tonight, to give you time to prepare a list of any names you might recall. Don’t ask Lady Caro or any of the servants—that would be needlessly dangerous—but rely only on your own memory.”

      “I...I’ve been keeping a journal.”

      Valentine sighed audibly. “Many do. I hope you keep it well hidden. I’ll have already arranged transport for you to London, or wherever you wish to go. Do you have adequate funds?” He shook his head at that. “No, of course she doesn’t, and she certainly can’t apply to Mailer for her quarterly wages. I’ll provide that, as well. She can’t even risk emptying her cupboard, carrying a traveling bag. But we’ll manage it.”

      Daisy was rapidly getting her feet back under her. “I’m standing right here, Mr. Redgrave. Please cease in referring to me as she.”

      At last he smiled. “My apologies. I often think out loud.”

      “An unfortunate habit you should do your utmost to curb.”

      “Yes, definitely a governess. I don’t know how I could have mistaken you for anything else. Just believe this. Things are about to get messy, Miss Prunes and Prisms, so you leave here tonight, do you understand? If you’ve nowhere else to go, I suppose I can turn you over to my sister at Redgrave Manor until this is settled. Can’t have you just roaming about, not once they realize you may know too much. Plus, frankly, you’re very much in my way and I need to devote my full attention on keeping my own self safe.”

      Daisy’s senses were whirling and she struggled to hang on, not fall into hysterics. Banish her, toss her away? Just when she was at last making some progress? “But—but what about the children? Lady Caroline? If even half of what you’ve said is true, they’re in danger, aren’t they?”

      “No more than they were in before your arrival. Besides, I’m here now.”

      Now she fought a sneer. “Oh, yes, you’re here now. Why didn’t I realize that at once? I’m in the way, but it’s nothing at all for you to protect Lady Caroline and two fairly unruly children. The brave Prince of Mud Pies. I see your point. Everything will be so much better now.”

      “I’ll ignore the insult, and assume you aren’t overjoyed by my plan for you. I suppose I should be grateful you aren’t in strong hysterics, actually.”

      “I considered them, but discarded the idea in favor of marveling at your arrogance.”

      “Ouch. And may I say, if Kate had had you as governess Redgrave Manor would have been even more interesting. You ruffle, Miss Marchant, but your powers of recovery are astounding.”

      He couldn’t know how she had long ago learned to guard her emotions; being set loose on her own into an uncaring world at the age of seventeen had taught her to hide her feelings behind an ironclad facade. Tears were a waste of time and aided nothing, and appearing vulnerable was dangerous. She was a survivor, and she would survive this most horrible truth; but she would not leave this place until she had somehow located her sister. Oh, God, what remained of her sister...

      “You refuse to leave, don’t you?”

      “My congratulations, Mr. Redgrave, that’s the first correct assumption you’ve arrived at since you first stepped out of the traveling coach yesterday, that wretched insult on your lips. No, I’m not leaving.”

      He looked at her for a long moment and she felt as if he’d just stripped her naked, all the way to her soul.

      “But not in any misguided idea of protecting the children or her ladyship, although that may play some part in it now that you’re here. Women take ridiculous ideas like that into their heads all the time.”

      “Are you thinking out loud again, Mr. Redgrave, or just being insulting?”

      “I’m sorry, but truth is truth. If you’d been there to see my idiot sister when Simon slipped into the— Never mind. You came to Fernwood for reasons of your own. I was right as far as I went. I merely went too far, including Downing Street in my theory. Perceval meant it when he said he wasn’t all that interested in what we Redgraves uncovered. But then why? Why are you here, why do you stay where you’re clearly unhappy?”

      She had no quick answers for him. At the moment, what she wanted most was to be alone. To think about Rose, come to grips with what she’d suspected since her very first weeks at Fernwood. Valentine Redgrave had given her more answers than he could possibly know, but there were still so many questions. “Children! It’s time to go!”

      Lydia came scampering back down the pathway, clutching a small bouquet of roses she promptly thrust at Valentine. “Here, my prince. Tobias snipped off all the thorns for me.”

      Lydia’s girlish lovesickness was palpable. Daisy rolled her eyes. This was why, throughout history, men retained such swollen heads: women persisted in foolishly adoring them for no good reason. Just like poor, poor Rose. I have to get away from this man. I have to think. I don’t want to think...

      Daisy turned to the child in near desperation. “Where’s William, Lydia?”

      “His mud pies aren’t dry, and Tobias says they’ll fall to pieces if they aren’t allowed to dry. They’re very nice. Tobias showed him how to push colored pebbles in them to make faces, and tiny leaves for hair.” She looked up at Valentine. “Not that I would enjoy doing anything so young and silly.” She then quickly hid her hands, caked with drying mud, behind her back.

      “I’ll come back for them later,” Daisy promised, shooing the girl ahead of her.

      “Farewell, dear prince!” Lydia called back to Valentine, who once again demonstrated his finesse with a courtly bow—young, handsome, carefree—just as if words like rape and hellfire club had never passed his lips.

      Then he turned about, to depart the greenhouse, without setting a time or place for them to meet again. He’d probably just pop up like some jack-in-the-box when she least expected him. She watched as he took up a cane he must have rested against one of the other potting tables, gave it a twirl or two before tucking it beneath his arm.

      Truly, the man was insufferable. Yet she felt safer knowing he was here. Safer, but oh, so very much sadder. And even more determined to confront Charles Mailer, now that she knew what to ask him. Not where did you imprison my sister? but what did you do with her body? Because there was no more room for hope now, was there? She’d known that from the beginning....

      Willing her hands not to shake or her voice to waver, Daisy proceeded along the center pathway determined, and dry-eyed, to make an appreciative fuss over William’s mud pies.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      VALENTINETOSSEDTHEbouquet on a table and the cane onto the bed before lightly hoisting himself up onto the high mattress and flinging himself down on his back to glare at the light summer canopy above his head.

      “Pouting, sir?” Piffkin said blandly, retrieving the cane and putting it, it would seem to the casual