скачать книгу бесплатно
The Earl's Runaway Governess
Catherine Tinley
Who knew living with an Earl… …would lead to such temptation? Marianne Grant’s new identity as a governess is meant to keep her safe. But then she meets her new employer, Ash, Earl of Kingswood, and she immediately knows his handsome good looks are a danger of their own! Brusque on first meeting, Ash quickly shows his compassionate side. Yet Marianne doesn’t dare reveal the truth! Unless Ash really could be the safe haven she’s been looking for…
Who knew living with an earl...
...would lead to such temptation?
Marianne Grant’s new identity as a governess is meant to keep her safe. But then she meets her new employer, Ash, Earl of Kingswood, and she immediately knows his handsome good looks are a danger of their own! Brusque on first meeting, Ash quickly shows his compassionate side. Yet Marianne doesn’t dare reveal the truth! Unless Ash really could be the safe haven she’s been looking for...
CATHERINE TINLEY has loved reading and writing since childhood, and has a particular fondness for love, romance and happy endings. She lives in Ireland with her husband, children, dog and kitten, and can be reached at catherinetinley.com (http://www.catherinetinley.com), as well as through Facebook and @CatherineTinley (http://www.@CatherineTinley) on Twitter.
Also by Catherine Tinley (#u1c8cfdd4-a808-5734-8021-39de660cecd1)
The Chadcombe Marriages miniseries
Waltzing with the Earl
The Captain’s Disgraced Lady
The Makings of a Lady
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
The Earl’s Runaway Governess
Catherine Tinley
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08889-3
THE EARL’S RUNAWAY GOVERNESS
© 2019 Catherine Tinley
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To all my women friends—colleagues and school friends, college and GAA pals. And to the activists, campaigners and supporters in my life.
You are my sister writers, maternity co-campaigners, repealers and WHO Code supporters.
I feel your support in Women Aloud, the Unlaced Harpies, branch and regional volunteers, conference organisers and maternal mental health champions.
I salute you all.
Contents
Cover (#uff94b676-e532-53d8-8350-78eb8152a430)
Back Cover Text (#u606d205a-625e-5f89-885c-6b0576c1c67e)
About the Author (#u9d1eeadf-cdbe-5238-9a95-6f17e86cd0e2)
Booklist (#uabe87ebc-a1b9-5817-851a-54abe488bac8)
Title Page (#ufe4d048a-e041-5a96-9d76-47309ae033af)
Copyright (#u8868f32d-42fd-5bdc-8626-b2b8586dc8b8)
Dedication (#u4c8b2feb-cdb3-5f39-86d6-31805d6870e3)
Chapter One (#u979ec9f9-006a-4f96-a303-0c4645dfb899)
Chapter Two (#u704a666c-235a-57ff-ae79-33ac6b0e3c2a)
Chapter Three (#uac7b6a59-16f7-51e2-804a-d4b977fbada7)
Chapter Four (#u6a9f3a7b-840b-51da-af4d-84c7c633d14c)
Chapter Five (#ud3368803-cbf9-55e3-88e6-01d2817d03a4)
Chapter Six (#u6ea49bd1-80b0-5bb7-ae9f-7060bc8c80b0)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u1c8cfdd4-a808-5734-8021-39de660cecd1)
Cambridgeshire, England, January 1810
Marianne tiptoed along the landing towards the servants’ staircase as quietly as she could manage. How different everything looked at night! A sliver of silver moonlight from the only window pierced the curtains, pointing at her. Look! it seemed to say. She is trying to escape!
Her skirts whispered as she moved through the darkness and her cloak billowed behind her like a black cloud. The creak of a floorboard under her feet sounded unnaturally loud, and she had to be careful not to allow her bandboxes to crash against the walls or the furniture. Shadows, unfamiliar and darkly threatening, loomed all around her, growing and shrinking ominously as she passed, her small candle gripped tightly in her right hand.
Downstairs a window rattled in a sudden gust of wind, and in the distance a vixen called mournfully. The candle flickered briefly as she reached the end of the landing, sending shadows scuttling and then reforming all around her.
She paused, listening for any sound, any indication that someone might have heard her.
Nothing.
Her heart was pounding—so much so that it was hard to hear anything above the din of her own blood rushing rhythmically through her body. Her mouth was dry and her palms sticky with fear. But she must not tarry! The longer she delayed, the greater the chance of being discovered.
Raising her candle, she carefully lifted the latch on the door to the back staircase. It gave way with a complaining click and Marianne bit her lip. She moved inside in a swish of silk and closed the door behind her.
She released her breath. Her first task was accomplished safely. Now for the next part.
She stepped down the stone stairs, her stout walking boots making a clatter that sounded thunderous to her ears. But with a closed door behind her hopefully it would not be loud enough to awaken anyone.
Reaching the bottom, she scuttled along the narrow passageway until she reached the chamber that the housekeeper shared with her daughter. The door was ajar, as arranged, and as she reached it Mrs Bailey opened it wide and bustled her inside, closing it securely behind her.
‘Oh, Miss Marianne! I never thought to see this day!’ Jane, the housekeeper’s daughter—Marianne’s personal maid—was sniffling into a handkerchief.
‘Hush now, Jane!’ Mrs Bailey admonished her daughter, though she herself also looked distressed.
Marianne set the candle down and touched the girl’s hand to soften her mother’s words. ‘We talked about this. You know it is for the best, Jane.’
They spoke in whispers, conscious that the housemaids were asleep in the chambers on either side. ‘But surely I should at least come with you?’ Jane protested.
Moved, Marianne enveloped her in a brief hug. ‘I love it that you would be willing to do so, but we all know there is no sense in it. Your place is here with your mother.’
Mrs Bailey, despite her stoicism, wiped away a tear. ‘Your own poor mother would break her heart if she knew you were running away from home, miss!’
Marianne felt the familiar pain stab through her. Mama and Papa had died over six months ago, yet she felt their absence still. Every waking moment.
‘Mama would want me to be safe, and I am no longer safe here.’ Even talking about it caused a wave of fear to flood through her.
‘I know, Miss Grant. It is best that you go.’ Mrs Bailey shook her head grimly. ‘Now, what have you packed?’
Marianne indicated the bandboxes in her left hand. ‘I fitted in as much as I could. My other black dress, two clean shifts, slippers, my reticule and my jean boots. A book. And Mama’s jewels.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I refuse to leave them here for him!’
‘They belong to you, miss. That was clear from the will, so they say. And when your parents made Master Henry your guardian they believed it was for the best.’
‘I know.’
Mama and Papa had refused to accept the truth—that Henry had no kindness in him, no sense of right and wrong. They would never knowingly have placed her in danger.
‘He is your brother, after all.’
‘My stepbrother.’ That had never seemed so important. ‘You know my real father died when I was a baby.’
Mrs Bailey acknowledged this with a nod. ‘The master and mistress were good for each other. Both widowed, both with a child to rear. It seemed a good marriage.’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘I have often wondered,’ she confessed, ‘if losing his own mother so young changed Master Henry.’
Marianne had no time to consider this. ‘He is who he is. I only know that I must escape before he...harms me.’
‘Of course you must.’
Unspoken between them was the fact that Mrs Bailey had rescued Marianne when Henry had cornered her a few hours earlier, in her chamber. He had been drunk, of course, but his unnatural interest in his stepsister was of long standing.
Marianne had been keenly aware of how the servants had kept her safe these past months, ensuring that Henry had no opportunity to be alone with her. Until today nothing had ever been said, but the butler had instructed the second footman to fit a new lock to Marianne’s chamber door just last week. Behind the locked door she had been able to relax a little.
Until tonight, when he had lain in wait for her within her own chamber.
Believing Henry to be still drinking with his raucous friends, in what had been her mother’s favourite drawing room, Marianne had hurried upstairs to seek the sanctuary of her room. Sighing with relief, she had closed her door and turned the key, only to hear him murmur silkily, ‘Good evening, my dear Marianne.’
She had whirled round to see him lying on her bed, his cravat loosened and a predatory look in his eye. Her mind had frozen for a second, and then wordlessly she had turned back to the door and unlocked it.
Before she had been able to open it properly he had been upon her, grabbing her from behind and muttering unspeakable things in her ear. Her shriek had not been loud enough to be heard in other parts of the house, but luckily Mrs Bailey had been nearby and had bravely intervened.
‘Oh, sir!’ she had said, bustling into the room. Pretending not to notice Marianne’s distress, or the position of Henry’s hands, she had gone on, with mock distress, ‘One of your friends has been violently sick and they are all requesting your presence.’
