Page 23 of His One and Only Lady

He nearly threw his hands up to ward her off in the manner one would when encountering a demon or a witch.

No. No, by all of the saints, she would not.

Miss Mayfield was not rotund, wrinkled, nor did she wear spectacles. And no wiry hairs protruded from the velvety skin covering her slightly pointed chin. In short, Purity Mayfield was the opposite of what Theran wanted and needed in a new governess.

“Good night, Miss Mayfield.”

If she was shocked at his abrupt dismissal, she gave no indication. Any servant worth their salt learned to disguise their thoughts and feelings behind a benign facade.

“Good night, Mr. Rutland. I pray you sleep well.”

“Don’t,” he snapped more harshly than he’d intended.

Eyes wide and pretty mouth parted, she blinked up at him. It was difficult to determine for certain in the muted half-light, but a hint of color appeared to tint the alabaster arc of her cheeks. “I beg your pardon?”

“Do not pray for me.”

Theran sank onto the edge of Bernadine’s bed, aware he was being an unmitigated arse and not giving a tinker’s curse anyway.

“I stopped believing in God when He allowed my wife to die. If you want to believe in fanciful claptrap, that is your right. However, I’ll thank you not to impose your nonsensical fairy tales upon me or my child.”

With dogged determination, Theran turned his attention back to his daughter.

“I…Yes. Well. Good night then,” came her soft contralto. “I meant no offense. Please forgive me.”

Theran refused to look in her direction as she crossed to the door, her cloak making a soft whoosh as she moved.

Head bowed, he closed his eyes.

His reaction had been unfair, yet he could not regret setting Miss Mayfield straight. Except she hadn’t actually said she’d pray for him to sleep well. Chagrin cascaded over him in castigating, searing waves.

Tomorrow, he’d apologize for behaving like a cad. He had no right to disparage her beliefs.

“Sleep well, little love.” He kissed Bernadine’s cheek again and after a final check around the room to assure himself all was well, made for the door.

“What are you doing?” Miss Mayfield’s urgent, slightly panicked whisper filtered through the door she’d left ajar. “You are intoxicated, my lord. Unhand me at once.”

Theran threw the door wide.

A man he didn’t recognize had Miss Mayfield pinned against the wall and was pawing her most brutally. Her cloak, a gray puddle, lay pooled on the floor around her feet. The rotter had torn the neckline of her night-rail and was planting wet, slobbering kisses on her throat and collarbone.

Her frightened gaze met Theran’s across the span of the passageway. Help me, the almost black with terror orbs pleaded.

“Your tenure is ending as governess, Purity. But there’s no reason we cannot come to a different arrangement,” slurred the gentleman attired in the first stare of fashion as he continued to grope her. “I’m in search of a new mistress, and you will need employment soon. I can be generous when I’m pleased. And you please me very much indeed.”

Lord Wendel Ceddes, Theran presumed. With invitees arriving over several days, he’d not met all of his aunt and uncle’s house guests this year.

“You’re drunk. Mad. I shall never be your mistress.” Writhing and twisting, Miss Mayfield resisted his odious advances.

And yet, she did not scream.

Because she didn’t want to awaken the peacefully slumbering children and servants? Or because she knew—astute woman that she was—that though she’d done nothing untoward, should others come upon her dishabille, she’d be thoroughly compromised?

Even a servant’s reputation could be smudged beyond repair. Which was why so many women in service were obligated to submit to their employers’ carnal demands. Acquiesce or be sacked, without a reference.

The world was an unfair, cruel place for women without means.

“Let me go,” Miss Mayfield said through clenched teeth while trying to ward off Ceddes’s advances.