Kitabı oku: «Rebellious Rake, Innocent Governess», sayfa 2
‘Never mind, Miss Wells,’ Mr Shaw consoled outrageously, ‘I’m made of far sterner stuff and shall bring you a glass of champagne after I’ve done my duty and danced with this irritating little chit.’
Charlotte contented herself with raising her chin in the air and enjoying looking down her nose at a very disobliging gentleman for once.
‘How dare you call me so in public?’ Kate flamed back at him.
‘Because you’re an appalling brat, and likely to become completely intolerable if these silly young pups convince you you’re a cross between a goddess and an angel come down from heaven to dazzle them, which is very far from the truth, I’m pleased to say,’ he said with a grimace of distaste.
‘Oh, I pay no attention to them,’ Kate dismissed with an airy wave of her hand and Charlotte thought she was telling the truth, even if Mr Shaw doubted her from the frown pleating his unfairly dark brows together.
‘Have a care, princess,’ he cautioned, ‘they’re just whelps and quite unused to dealing with feisty little monkeys like you. You’ll break their silly hearts if you don’t watch out. I don’t want you branded a heartless flirt, for all you’re a confounded nuisance.’
‘No, for you’re as soft hearted as Kit’s favourite mastiff under all that “to the devil with you all” air of yours, aren’t you, Mr Shaw?’ Kate taunted softly.
‘Don’t forget how fearsomely Spartacus barks and growls at anyone he doesn’t like, minx, and have a care for my skin. I make far too large a target to be called out for thumping one of the young idiots when they try to force what they can’t get with your consent.’
‘I don’t see what business it is of yours,’ Kate responded rather sulkily. ‘Anyone would think you were my chaperon, not Miss Wells.’
This last was said with a reproachful glance at Charlotte, who was trying hard to look both innocent and sympathetic, while secretly agreeing with Mr Shaw for once.
‘I’d rather have half my teeth pulled,’ he responded amiably enough and Kate laughed, her temper forgotten as soon as it fired.
‘You really are the most disobliging gentleman I ever came across. I’ve half a mind to marry you and make both our lives a misery, just to serve you with your own sauce,’ she told him, her bluest of blue eyes sparkling with mischief and Charlotte thought not one gentleman in a thousand could fail to be charmed.
‘I’ll manage without any teeth at all to be spared that,’ he responded, giving Kate a straight look to discourage any more experiments in flirtation.
‘Don’t worry, the other half of my mind is the sensible one and couldn’t tolerate a domestic tyrant like you, Ben Shaw,’ Kate replied.
‘Good, you need a stern critic to keep you in line, miss, but it won’t be me. Now, if we don’t make haste they’ll start the dance without us and I’m conspicuous enough on the dance floor without insinuating us on to it after the music starts.’
‘It would give the faster ladies of your acquaintance more chance to admire your manly form,’ Kate teased relentlessly and Charlotte wondered at her courage, but all he did was shake his head sadly, as if despairing of her former charge.
‘Behave yourself, brat,’ he ordered not very seriously, and with one last, complex look at Charlotte that made her feel more confused than ever, he led his partner on to the dance floor.
Satisfied Kate was intending to behave herself, Charlotte could resume her anonymity and brood in peace. She should be profoundly grateful to be spared Ben Shaw’s infuriating company, she decided, but somehow she wasn’t and sat back on her uncomfortable sofa feeling out of sorts with herself and the rest of the world. Watching them dance so harmoniously caused her a pang she had a terrible suspicion might be jealousy. Heartburn, she assured herself prosaically, and considered the idea that Mr Shaw could be the man of sufficient character, humour and humanity to become Kate’s husband.
Some remnant of the silly romantic girl she’d once been rebelled at the notion of that match for the girl she’d come to love over the last two years. And while she was about it, that part of her seemed to hate the notion of Mr Shaw becoming permanently unavailable to plague and infuriate her. Reminding herself never to eat apricot fool again, she tried to divert herself with the company, but failed rather badly as her eyes were drawn to that well-matched pair gliding about the floor in such harmony.
Charlotte suspected she was not the only one speculating that their partnership might become more permanent in time. It would be a splendid match in material terms, she supposed. Kate was very well dowered and of ancient lineage and Ben Shaw was so fabulously wealthy his irregular birth was largely ignored, except in the most finicky circles where she doubted Kate had the least wish to shine. He could be charming as well as amiable when he chose to be, and apparently he could take his pick among the highflyers against some very aristocratic competition. She really shouldn’t know about that side of his life, she told herself sternly, and must stop pricking up her ears whenever his name was mentioned by the Alstones’ footmen and they thought she wasn’t listening. Then there was his avowed intention of never marrying anyone. Given that he would have to be so deeply in love with Kate as not to be able to stop himself offering for her, why did the very idea of a marriage between Ben Shaw and Kate seem an abomination?
Was it because he must be about three and thirty and Kate was just eighteen, perhaps? A significant gap, but hardly insurmountable. Nobody with the slightest intention of being fair-minded could accuse Ben Shaw of being anything but in his prime, and Kate had wit and a keen intelligence to add to her youthful glowing beauty. When she matured, she would be a rare creature indeed, and Charlotte thought her former pupil would become a real force for good if she wed the right man. So was the right man the infuriating giant dancing so lightly with the vibrant young creature who absorbed the attention of most young gentlemen in the room one way and another? No, the bone-deep certainty of that answer surprised her, and sent Miss Wells, governess, home with a very thoughtful frown on her shadowed face as all three sat silent in the Earl of Carnwood’s comfortable town coach later that night.
Chapter Two
Ben lay back against the luxurious squabs, considering a curiously unsatisfactory evening. He’d gone to Lady Wintergreen’s ball to keep an eye on Miss Kate Alstone in his best friend’s absence and, with Miss Wells’s reluctant help, had successfully done so. Yet something crucial had been missing and he tried to reassure himself it wasn’t the lack of a dance with the disapproving dragon seated opposite.
He wondered idly if she concealed an elegant little tail under the acres of grey crepe that she used to conceal her figure from the eyes of the world. There was no doubt she breathed fire, he decided ruefully, as he recalled some of the barbs she had shot at him tonight. Yet there was something about Miss Charlotte Wells that made him eager to know what lay under all that disapproval. Under her formidable exterior no doubt there was a formidable woman, but, whoever she was, she fascinated him, and he’d never been one to shirk a challenge. The question was, a challenge to what?
He wasn’t rake enough to make a dead set at a lady in impoverished circumstances. He frowned as he contemplated the careless actions of such men, for hadn’t his father seduced his mother, then denied her and his bastard as if they were strangers he might pass in the street? Ben admired his late mother more than any woman he’d ever known, but he was certain her life would have been far better if he’d never been born. He could never inflict such suffering on a woman and he’d made sure no woman he was involved with risked carrying his child. So, if he didn’t intend to storm the stoutly defended Fortress Wells, why on earth had he been trying to flirt with her in the middle of Lady Wintergreen’s over crowded ball?
Because trying was all he would ever manage, the uneasy answer occurred to him as he stared broodingly into the darkness. Had she just become a challenge he couldn’t quite resist? He shook his head and hoped not and his stern expression softened as he watched Kate asleep on her dragon’s shoulder, as if it was far more comfortable than it appeared. Then they passed a lamp-post and he saw Miss Wells’s face momentarily through the gloom and it looked curiously softened. She’d removed those ugly spectacles and the clear-cut lines of her finely made features were momentarily visible, both illuminated and shadowed by the soft glow.
He recalled the first occasion he’d met the Alstone girls and their fearsome governess, almost two years ago now, and he’d keenly enjoyed the clash of arms between them on the rare occasions he’d met her since then. Kit Alstone had been his best friend ever since they could both walk, and Ben had agreed to escort the carriage from Bath to Derbyshire, despite the fact he had a hundred things to do and a dozen other places to do them in. He’d been a little impatient of the whole business, but knew his very presence riding by the Earl of Carnwood’s travelling carriage would stop most highwaymen in their tracks. After all, there was every reason to guard three unprotected females allied to his friend, when they’d made too many enemies for comfort in the rise to success.
In a spirit of resignation, he’d set out to escort two no doubt timorous young girls and their superannuated governess and found the artlessly outgoing Misses Alstone and their young dragon instead. No doubt one glare from the formidable Miss Wells and the most enterprising villain would instantly have turned to stone, or hastily dropped his pistols and run home to his mother, but they’d met with no reckless challenges on that memorable journey. Ben just managed to hide a grin as lamplight now splayed over him instead of his own particular dragon. Ever since he laid eyes on the very correct Miss Wells, he’d struggled with the urge to kiss her until she was breathless and bemused, and finally giving the lie to her rigidly severe exterior. So far he’d stopped himself, just, but if she went on producing those comedy spectacles at every opportunity his self-restraint might not last.
Yet in the two years since he had first set eyes on her, he’d managed to learn almost nothing about the elusive Miss Wells, which was a mystery in itself. He could usually discover whatever he needed to know about a person within two days of setting eyes on them, so either Miss Wells had lived a life of such tedious respectability that she had rendered herself thoroughly unmemorable, or she wasn’t exactly who she seemed. Up until now he’d been content to trust his judgement that the woman was harmless, at least to her charges and his friends, and she even seemed quite fond of them and unbent noticeably whenever she thought he wasn’t about. Yet lately he’d been experiencing a familiar tension that warned him trouble was too close, and anything out of kilter must now be considered a threat.
He frowned thoughtfully and shot the stately figure of the governess a sidelong glance. What was it about the wretched female that goaded him into being less kind than he should be, he wondered? He wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t that aloof air of superiority; or perhaps her disapproving sniff; or maybe even the hideous cap that hid her scraped-back hair. He wondered what colour it was under that monstrosity and considered her dark brows and eyelashes with what he told himself was purely a spirit of scientific inquiry.
The latter were extraordinarily lush and even curled in enchanting crescents when they rested on her creamy cheeks, he remembered with a jolt. He’d seen her so undefended on that memorable trip to Wychwood; one day she had slept in the carriage and as he rode closer to check on his charges and saw her face all soft and unguarded and wondered if she was much younger than she pretended. Not that he had been allowed so much as a glimpse of such sweet vulnerability since that day, nor had those oddly enchanting eyelashes swept down over eyes heavy with sleep in his presence ever again. He found he regretted that lack and supposed that, when all else was covered and battened down, even the most ridiculous detail became intriguing.
Tonight he’d been forced to exert every ounce of willpower he possessed not to rip off that ridiculous dowager’s cap and sweep prim Miss Wells up into the dance. A waltz for preference, he thought with a wicked smile, as darkness engulfed him once more. Although come to think of it that dance was quite circumspect by the standards of the poor. Nights at Kate Long’s when the girls swung from one partner to the other with joyful abandon would undoubtedly shock Miss Wells to the soles of her proper feet, he concluded wryly.
Perhaps, his imagination persisted, she would have brushed against him even in such select company as they were forced together by others on that overcrowded dance floor. Or maybe she would feel drawn to engineer such closeness of her own accord. Yes, and pigs might fly. He was quite certain Miss Wells would consider such rakish liberties repulsive, and tell him so in no uncertain terms if he ever ventured one. Yet the idea of any other gentleman stealing a kiss from her lips, which he noted were very well shaped and surprisingly full as they went past another lamp, made him feel strangely discomfited. He frowned so fiercely at her the next time they passed a streetlight that she looked startled.
His gaze softened and he had to suppress a surprisingly strong urge to reach across and pull her to him, so he could reassure her, of course. Enough! He didn’t want her to realise the ridiculous state even the thought of holding her got him in and avoid him even more assiduously in future. Ben spent the rest of their brief journey back to Alstone House in Cavendish Square watching a largely uninteresting view of shadowy streets and thinking of cold and barren wastes to get himself back under strict control, before he must step out of the carriage and escort them inside.
Even he was shocked to find the Countess of Carnwood waiting up for them when he escorted Kate and Miss Wells up the steps and into the marble hall. From the expression on the latter’s face, she disapproved of her employer’s over-protective attitude to her sister nearly as much as Ben did, so at least for once they were in accord.
‘I know what you’ll say,’ Miranda Alstone claimed with a disarming smile her lord was quite unable to resist, but it had no noticeable effect on the trio facing her. Her ladyship sighed. ‘I can’t help myself,’ she admitted. ‘With Kit away so long I can’t convince myself all is well with the world.’
Since he shared her apprehension, Ben allowed himself to be pacified and gave her an encouraging smile as he urged her upstairs and back into the cosy sitting room she had made there, despite the strict Palladian style that made the rest of the house a little too sternly elegant for his taste.
‘Tea, if you please, Coppice,’ he requested the stately butler with a manly exchange of glances that admitted there was no point in trying to send her ladyship off to bed to worry away the little hours alone.
‘All will certainly not be well if Kit comes home and finds you have fretted yourself into a decline, particularly in the present circumstances,’ he then told his friend’s wife as gently as he could, as he manoeuvred her towards the fire. After the hothouse atmosphere of Lady Wintergreen’s ballroom, even a mild night felt frosty to the partygoers and the warmth was welcome.
‘True, his lordship will be very put out if all is not as serene as he left it, but I fail to see why he should blame you for my folly,’ Miranda told him with a return of her usual spirit.
‘Because I happen to be handy, I expect,’ he said with a rueful grin she returned weakly, as she obediently sat on the nearest sofa in response to Miss Wells’s urging and even consented to put her feet up.
‘And at least you’re big enough to mill him down if he loses his temper,’ Miranda admitted with a fondly exasperated smile as she considered her sometimes fiery lord.
Kit’s lady knew her husband all too well, but Ben suspected she also knew they only sparred when nobody else was brave enough to enter the ring with them at Jackson’s Boxing Saloon. Neither had much taste for gratuitous violence, having witnessed the dire effect a selfish and violent drunkard could have on his unfortunate family during their boyhood. Ben’s mother had been one of the Alstones’ lodgers in the shabby house in St Giles that Mrs Alstone somehow contrived to keep, in the face of all her husband’s efforts to drink it down the River Tick along with everything else they had ever owned. There Ben and the Alstone children had learnt far too much about the bitter realities of life with a man who made no effort to control his temper or his fists.
‘My shoulders are broad enough to take whatever fate throws at them, even with the help of my lord the Earl of Carnwood,’ Ben said lightly.
‘True, but I shall not demand of you the sacrifice of taking tea with me at this unearthly hour of the night,’ Miranda observed, and Ben was relieved to see her resume her usual self-command and order her protesting sister off to bed, before she fell asleep in her chair. ‘Oh, and bring brandy for Mr Shaw, if you please, Coppice,’ she asked, then smiled her approval as another footman followed on the heels of the first one with the required decanter and a fine glass. ‘Why did I ever expect otherwise?’ she asked ruefully as the doors closed behind the butler and his cohorts.
‘I have no idea. Especially considering Coppice adores you just as foolishly as the rest of your staff,’ he informed her with a smile and watched Miss Wells pour tea with her usual stern disapproval.
Miranda flushed with pleasure at the thought that those around her actually liked her and, if Ben needed a reminder of why his friend had fallen so hard for her in the first place, that would have provided it. As the Countess carefully sipped at her fragrant China tea, Ben thought she looked considerably better now that two of her chicks were back under her roof unscathed. He fleetingly wished he could find such a wife, then dismissed the thought as paltry—there was only one Miranda Alstone, and an even bigger rogue than himself had already captured her. For himself, he enjoyed his state of single blessedness too well to give it up for married life.
He dismissed such ridiculous ideas as seeking a bride for himself among the belles of the Season, whilst he kept his eye on Miranda’s sister whenever Kit was unavailable. Instead he wondered why on earth her ladyship should consider the self-contained and dauntless Miss Wells in need of her protection. It was beyond Ben, but he sipped his brandy and watched them thoughtfully while they chatted of nothing in particular, as if to soothe each other’s ruffled feathers. There seemed to him to be a sincere friendship between countess and governess, and he was suddenly intrigued by the idea that Miss Wells must be a very different creature whenever he was not by.
Perhaps feeling his speculative gaze on her, she turned and shot him a fierce look of either suspicion or condemnation, and suddenly he felt very tempted to live down to her expectations. Good behaviour or bad seemed to cut no ice with the haughty dragon. Next time he was in the position to do so, he might just snatch a kiss to see if her lips were as cold as her eyes, which were once again glinting so disapprovingly at him that she didn’t even need those wretched eyeglasses to emphasise her aloof dislike.
Thank goodness Miranda had never provoked him to turn her upside down and shake her to see if there was a real warm and breathing woman under all the hairpins, caps and spectacles Miss Wells came armoured in. It was perfectly obvious from looking at his friend’s beautiful wife that she was all of those things, and a few more into the bargain. As he didn’t have the least wish to meet his best friend early one morning on Paddington Green for a very unfriendly encounter, it was very lucky Ben needed no proof of the Countess of Carnwood’s humanity.
‘Why are you flying in the face of experience and worrying about your husband, my lady?’ he turned and asked Miranda in an attempt to get at the truth, and distract himself from the remarkably sweet notion of finding out if Miss Wells’s rather lush mouth would yield under his and give the lie to her fearsome appearance.
If anything it was even more disapproving now, as if she could somehow read his errant thoughts. Anyway, how did she think they could soothe Miranda’s fears when they had no idea what they were? He sent her a fiercely repressive glance and then regarded his friend’s wife with gentle enquiry, having no idea that the contrast in his gaze when resting on the two women in front of him could have hurt the formidable governess.
‘Because I hate being apart from him, I suppose,’ Miranda admitted slowly, then seemed to come to a decision to confide more deeply. ‘And I have received a letter from Cousin Celia,’ she finally added.
Now he would happily have taken a joint share in Miss Wells’s most icy look of disdain if the wretched Celia were actually here to receive the full benefit of it. No wonder the poor girl was fretting herself into a headache if that murderous bitch had been stirring up the Alstone pond once more.
‘Not at all the sort of letter I would expect of her,’ Miranda added hastily as she observed his thunderous frown. ‘Indeed, I suspect that Celia has discovered actually living with Nevin is even more of a punishment than we all intended. Maybe she’s trying to soften Kit’s heart by warning me, in the hope he’ll allow her return to England without her husband.’
‘She has mistaken her man then. Kester will never forgive her for what she did to you, both before and after you met him. Even if he didn’t love you quite ridiculously, how could he forget her wanton cruelty to a vulnerable young girl who happened to be her own cousin into the bargain? But besides bringing up that mare’s nest again and upsetting you, what does the vixen have to say? If you’re able to tell me the details, of course,’ he said with a cautionary glance at Miss Wells.
‘Oh, there’s no need to hide any of it from Charlotte,’ Miranda said blithely, ‘she knows all about my past. Kit and I decided it was necessary that we told her, in order to make sure neither Nevin nor Celia could approach the girls in our absence.’
And it had been an understandable relief to unburden herself to a sympathetic female, Ben concluded, rather surprised at his sudden conviction that the suffocatingly correct Miss Wells would make a stalwart and very partisan ally.
‘I wonder she dared set pen to paper after she had done her best to ruin your life by urging her secret husband to elope with a seventeen-year-old girl, then bigamously wed you, as well as the pair of them doing their best to kill you when you returned to Wychwood and threatened her supremacy. So what on earth has the repulsive female got to say?’ he asked impatiently, trying to ignore the fleeting thought that he would quite like to meet a friendly dragon, rather than the condemning one he knew all too well.
‘That we’re in danger,’ Miranda finally admitted. ‘She says the crime you and Kit have been investigating for so long is about to be exposed, along with a good many others, and someone very rich and powerful is furious about the threat to his income and position.’
‘The devil he is!’ he exclaimed and began pacing up and down the fine Aubusson carpet as he considered the implications of such an attack. ‘How much does she know?’ he rapped out.
‘I would remind you that you are inhabiting a lady’s drawing room and not a board meeting in the City, Mr Shaw,’ Miss Wells rebuked him, ‘and, come to think of it, you must speak a little more politely to those gentlemen if you wish to retain their good will.’
‘Much you know about it,’ he told her with an unrepentant grin, even as he was secretly grateful to her for checking the temper his anxiety threatened to spark into formidable life.
He might as well store that up for the enemy who had stolen one of their ships and murdered far too many good men for him to think about too deeply and stay sane. She was quite right, though; he needed a cool head if he wasn’t to let the villain behind it all slip through his fingers once again.
‘I beg your pardon, Lady Carnwood,’ he said with a nicely judged bow and exquisite irony, ‘would you inform me of any further details you might have gathered from this missive? Just so we might guard ourselves against any harm, you understand?’
‘Of course I do, but my cousin was very vague. The one thing I can tell is that she’s terrified of the man. Too terrified to give me more than the most obscure clues as to his identity, I’m afraid.’
‘Which probably explains why Mrs Braxton sent her warning in the first place—so that you and his lordship would defeat him for her, Mr Shaw,’ Miss Wells put in shrewdly.
Ben was impressed by her acute grasp of the situation. There was no false optimism, no impulse to think the best of a woman who so far as he could tell had neither heart nor soul under all that chilly blonde beauty. Which, he decided, argued that Miss Wells had been forged in a very fiery furnace indeed, and he was astonished by the powerful wave of protectiveness that suddenly swept over him at the thought of her so vulnerable that she had been forced to armour herself against the world so sternly.
‘Very likely you’re right,’ he agreed absently.
‘How astonishing of me,’ she replied sweetly.
‘If I ever feel myself growing self-satisfied, I’ll rely on you to depress my pretensions, Miss Wells,’ he parried with a rueful smile.
‘Then it will be my pleasure to oblige you, Mr Shaw,’ she replied pertly and he was once more overtaken by a strange compulsion to kiss her soundly, if only to stop her wicked tongue for a few moments.
He turned and caught Miranda’s thoughtful gaze on them both and cursed himself for a fool. His friend’s wife was loyal to a fault and capable of going to the most ridiculous lengths to secure the happiness of those she loved. The last thing he needed was the Countess of Carnwood matchmaking between him and the governess. So respectable a bride might increase his standing with the more cautious of his investors, but it would do very little for his personal comfort, he suspected. Having his fiercest critic on hand on such a permanent basis might even sap his adamantine will.
‘To get back to our sheep, exactly when’s his lordship due home?’ he asked, partly because he wanted to know and partly to divert Miranda’s attention from his determination never to wed anyone, let alone Miss Wells.
‘Last night,’ Miranda said mournfully and he could have kicked himself for reminding her, then his friend for giving her so precise a date for his return.
‘I’d best go and find the rogue for you then, hadn’t I?’ he said and immediately felt better on making that decision, so he must be more worried about Kester’s thick hide than he’d let himself know.
Then he glanced at Miranda’s intent face and decided Kit hadn’t stood a chance against those brave blue eyes of hers. No, he amended, his friend hadn’t a hope in hell of resisting his true love, and that was just how it should be, he supposed. Suddenly the lure of such a love was strong after all—to be loved and to love so deeply seemed like a wonder to a boy brought up on the harsh reality of one of the poorest neighbourhoods in London. Yet it had also forged him into a man suspicious of all human weakness, and he really had no idea that he was now regarding Miss Wells with a stern frown that even made her shiver briefly under its frosty reproach.
‘If only I could come with you,’ Miranda said wistfully and Ben reminded himself he’d cause to deal with her gently and wiped the glower off his face.
‘The best thing you can do for him is stay safe and keep close,’ he said, horrified by the idea of taking any pregnant woman on such a quest, let alone his best friend’s precious countess.
‘Indeed,’ Miss Wells backed him up, which must go sadly against the grain, ‘nothing would worry his lordship more than knowing you were abroad and vulnerable and, given the vagaries of the weather, let’s hope the sea crossing was calm. Not even Lord Carnwood could swim the Irish Sea if the captains won’t leave port,’ she added shrewdly and he nearly cheered.
‘That’s true,’ Miranda conceded, relief taking some of the tension out of her braced shoulders at last. ‘And I’m being a terrible widgeon, am I not?’
‘You always look more like a swan than a duck to me, my lady,’ Ben teased lightly.
‘Say that again in a few months’ time and I’ll very likely hug you, if I can reach you,’ Miranda said with a rueful smile and he sensed the worst of her megrims were fading at last.
‘And as I’ve no wish to be challenged to a duel by my best friend, I beg you’ll contain your transports, my lady,’ he observed with mock terror and even got a laugh out of her at that very unlikely idea.
‘I hope Kit knows he’s no need to be jealous of any other man on this good earth of ours,’ Miranda said cheerfully enough, reminded of the passionate love that existed between herself and the man Ben had once thought too damaged by his early life to let himself love so completely.
Again he felt the tug of feeling that sort of love, then dismissed the notion as impossible even if it did make him feel at odds with himself. Seeing Kit happy in the midst of so much domesticity must be turning him soft, for suddenly he longed not to be forever guarded and aloof from the wider world. If there was some special she he could lay aside his omnipotence in front of, he felt as if some gap in him might feel complete. The idiocy of being able to set the man he had made of himself aside for a space occurred to him at the same time as he frowned formidably at the coal scuttle. It would take an exceptional kind of woman to love him once she knew who he really was, deep inside. And he could never be innocent or unguarded enough to let them find out, he reflected bitterly, nor could he lay himself open to the danger of such hurt if he ever dared do so.
