She had shown a moral outrage at what she thought he had planned. A whore with morals? But why not? There were any number of respectable women who entirely lacked them.
She had told him that he was disgusting. Was it just the behavior she had imagined him capable of? Or was it his person she had found repulsive?
He did not doubt that it was at least partly the latter. He had unclothed himself completely in front of her, something he had not done with any woman before—not since acquiring his wounds, anyway. And he had stood before her, fully visible to her all the time he had been coupling with her.
He had done it deliberately, he realized now, a release from all the pain and self-consciousness and degradation he had lived with for six years. He had wanted one woman to see him, a woman who could not afford to show revulsion or to refuse him.
And she had passed the test, courageous Fleur, whose eyes had not wavered from his despite the fact that for her it had been a far more momentous occasion than he had realized until it was too late.
Well, so she found him disgusting. Was it so surprising? And did it matter? She was his servant, one of countless many. He had given her employment because she needed it and would never have made a success of being a whore. He had done his part to atone both for his sin of infidelity and for his part in setting the girl on the road to degradation and ruin.
It did not matter. He had done his part and he would forget about her. If she did not do well as Pamela’s governess, then he would have her removed to one of his other estates as some other kind of servant.
He stood gazing down at the lake, willing his land, his home, to perform its old magic on his soul.
LADY PAMELA BACKED UP A FEW YARDS FROM HER puppy and went down on her knees while it tried to run toward her. She laughed helplessly as it tripped on the long grass and rolled over before getting to its feet and resuming its chase.
She picked up the puppy and fell over onto her back. She held it close enough so that it could lick her face, and continued to giggle.
Fleur did not have the heart to remind her pupil that they had come outdoors to paint and that she had had to do some pleading with Mrs. Clement in order to be allowed to bring the child out-of-doors at all. They had been granted only an hour. Lady Pamela so rarely seemed to enjoy herself—except with the Chamberlain children and except on the previous afternoon, when her father came home.
Fleur shuddered.
“You see?” she said when the giggles had abated. “We can see the pavilion on the island and reflected in the lake and framed by trees. You were right. It will make a very pretty picture.”
“Ouch!” Lady Pamela giggled again. “Don’t bite, Tiny.”
“Or perhaps for today you would like to paint Tiny rolling in the grass,” Fleur suggested.
“Yes.” The child looked at her, bright-eyed. “Is she not funny, Miss Hamilton? Isn’t Papa wonderful?”
“Very definitely,” a voice said from behind Fleur. “But what is this? A blank piece of paper and dry brushes? Grass in your hair, Pamela? And all over your dress? Whatever will Nanny say?”
“She will scold,” Lady Pamela said. “Papa, come and feel Tiny’s funny nose. It’s all cold.”
The Duke of Ridgeway passed Fleur and knelt down beside his daughter.
Fleur stood where she was before the easel and felt turned to ice. She had hoped not to see him for a long, long time after that morning—particularly after that morning. She had felt utterly humiliated.
He had been furious. Every word he had spoken had been like the lash of a whip. She had been forcefully reminded of the fact that he had been an infantry officer with His Grace of Wellington’s armies for several years. And she had believed that he spoke the truth.
He had given her this post because he pitied her, not because he desired her.
And her first words to him had been, “I will not be your mistress.” Words spoken to the Duke of Ridgeway! Her employer. They did not bear remembering.
He got to his feet and turned to her while Pamela played on.
“You brought her here to paint?” he asked.
“Yes, your grace.”
“And have not insisted that she do so?”
“She is very excited about her puppy this afternoon, your grace,” she said.
“Was it not agreed yesterday,” he asked, “that the puppy was not to interfere with lessons?”
“Yes, your grace.” She looked into the dark depths of his eyes and firmly quelled the terror that his height, the breadth of his shoulders, his black hair and hawkish features threatened to turn to panic. And she looked at the disfiguring scar, reminding her of the other marks on his body, which were far worse than just scars. “Sometimes with young children, lesson plans ought not to be rigidly adhered to. We have talked this afternoon about the puppy’s teeth and the reason for their small size and impermanence—as with Lady Pamela’s. We have talked about the shape of the dog’s head and of how it will change as it grows. I have explained how your grooms will train the dog so that eventually it can live in the house. We have—”