The Bluestocking and the Rake (Hearts in Hiding 2)

He raked his gaze up from the tips of her serviceable boots, the length of her plain gown to her hair demurely coiled at the back of her head. There was nothing to suggest this woman was anything other than a virtuous governess—albeit a beautiful one.

The beautiful, virtuous young woman his brother had rescued.

And whom he had loved.

Before he could speak, she said harshly, “So, Lord Griffith told you about the treasure. Did he send you? Am I to be killed for the clay tablet, or is the bounty—presuming I’m to be prevailed upon to hand it over—sufficient to keep me and my family safe?”

Miles weighed up his words. Slowly he asked, “Jemima, what happened a year ago? Before you were governess to the Graves’ family?”

She looked at him strangely. “I believe you know very well my sorry history.”

“But you’ve never mentioned Griffith House and, more importantly, how you came to be there.”

She wrapped her arms around her chest, protectively. “I’ve guarded the secret of the clay tablet and its inscription closely for a year. I was not prepared to give away too many secrets, my Lord.”

Now it was his turn to show frustration. “A man rescued you, Jemima. A man calling himself Sir Richard. He was tall and light-haired, late thirties, an honorable man.” He smiled ruefully. “No doubt he mentioned he had a brother who was regarded as something of a rake.” He cleared his throat. “A man of more than average height, with grey eyes, a square jaw and brown curling hair. An indulged sibling but one who hoped he’d one day grow to be respected as…his brother had been.”

He saw her stiffen, her expression narrowing as she studied him more closely. Her lip trembled and tears gathered in her eyes. “You, Lord Ruthcot?”

He nodded, his heart seeming to swell in his chest as he thought of his beloved older brother. And of Jemima. Of what they might have been to one another, but also the high price each had paid. “His name was not really Sir Richard but he was in the habit of using a non de plume as his work was dangerous.” Emotion continued to pulse through him and it was difficult to talk. He wanted to take her hand; to hold her. But her expression was filled with doubt and confusion. She was not yet ready to turn to him for comfort.

Maybe she never would.

“Jemima, Richard was my brother,” he said gently noticing how her eyes flickered to the door. He feared that she might flee from him at any moment. She’d been running for her life for more than a year, after all. Why should she trust him? Carefully he went on, “His manservant John, who came into my employ only a few days ago, has told me everything.”

She looked dazed as she whispered, “John? Are you talking about Sir Richard’s manservant?” She took a breath. Blinked a few times, then said with greater resolve, “Sir Richard de Vere rescued me after my father was murdered. He saved me from the man Lord Griffith had sent to claim the clay tablet—only, I didn’t know Lord Griffith was behind all the evil. Sir Richard lifted me onto his horse when I feared I was about to be thrown off a cliff. Two days later we were traveling to seek safety in London when again we heard someone was pursuing me. This time he set me on the road to make my way amidst a group of wassailers heading towards Griffith House in order that he could draw the murderer away. An act of bravery for which he paid with his life.” There was bitterness in her tone. “That’s why I vowed, this time, not to involve anyone in my plans. Not you, either, Lord Ruthcot, and now you must go for I will not have your death on my conscience, too.”

“But you believe, now, that I am Richard’s brother?”

“I am astonished but not as much as I should be, perhaps. Too much has happened to me, Lord Ruthcot.” She ran the back of her hand across her forehead. “I am not the virtuous woman your brother whisked from the jaws of death. I am steeped in sin and for that reason there can be nothing between us. I will never again be a man’s mistress to gain the protection I need, my Lord.”

“You know that I love you, Jemima.”

She shrugged, as if his words meant nothing. “I’m a fallen woman, the daughter of a man of science and you’re an aristocrat. Roderick Graves claimed he loved me. Lord Deveril, too. Empty words. You would want only to possess me for the few short years I possess my looks, but you will not have me, Lord Ruthcot. I am about to set sail and forge my own way in the world, and if luck favors me, I will soon have all the independence I could wish for.”

He was truly shocked by her brazenness which he tackled before her wounding words regarding his intentions. “You would truly persist in this quest with no money and only three-quarters of a clay tablet?” He held up the broken one-third.

“Please give it to me.” Only the widening of her eyes revealed her shock and it appeared to cost her some effort to say the words calmly. She held out her hand. “It belonged to my father so is mine by rights.”

“And you wanted the Rosetta Stone to help you decipher the code, but you don’t have the rubbing I gave you, or a translation, so how do you imagine your mission will be successful?”

“You do think you know a lot,” she muttered, glancing out of the window as if searching for salvation. However, she appeared relieved when he handed her the fragment of clay which she took, eyeing him cautiously.

“I may not know much about antiquities, but my brother was an authority, and he does have a stone very similar to the Rosetta Stone, which you are welcome to peruse if that will help shore up your research before you head off into the wilderness.”

“So you have said, but I know exactly what would happen if I accept. You’d trade on our encounter of the other night, and you would decide that I now owed you a favor. I would become your latest prized possession and you would deny me my freedom. Just like Mr. Graves and Lord Deveril.” Turning back to the window she said, distantly, “I will not allow that to happen to me again.”

Could she really dismiss the other night so easily? Frustration was compounded by confusion and hurt raged in his breast until he realized that if he hinted at such feelings, she’d be justified in her claim that he considered her an object—not a woman with the right to direct her life as she chose.

“Please, Jemima, I give you my word I wouldn’t do that.” Cautiously he advanced a step. “Come back with me…to my home…so I can show you the stone. You have my word I will not try to—”

“Seduce me?” She raised

an eyebrow. “I do not believe that won’t happen. I would be equally susceptible, but it’s not the way I wish to do business.”

“Business? This is not a business transaction, Jemima.” His throat felt dry. “I love you.”

“So you’ve said.” She pushed back her shoulders. “If you love me, you will respect me. Respect my wishes.” She held up her prize. The nondescript piece of clay. “I need to take this to France and then on to Constantinople. I will locate my father’s old colleague so I can discover—perhaps—a great treasure. I’m telling you what I’ve not told anyone—not Mr. Graves, not Lord Griffith, and not even the man you claim is your brother. A man very different from you, Lord Ruthcot, and a man I came to love.”