line of her sight, he assessed the barren room. There wasn’t a clothes press or dresser. Three dresses were draped on nails, and a tiny stack of linens was stuffed on the lower shelf of the washstand. Towels and washcloths should be on the shelf. Her corset was draped over the foot of her bed, the frayed and knotted black strings standing in sharp contrast to the pale material.
He realized that his refusal to release her wages wouldn’t allow her to replace her worn garments. “I’ll . . . uh . . . summon the dressmaker.”
Velvet blanched. “No, that’s not necessary. I wasn’t suggesting I needed a dressing gown.” She shifted from one foot to the other.
In his experience, women didn’t turn down clothes, nor did they shove chairs under their door handles to keep others out without reason. But it was no surprise she didn’t trust him. No one did. Desperately needing the biting cold of the ocean, he swiveled and nearly knocked over Iris.
He steadied her and set her away. “Go back to bed. There is no reason for you to be up so early.”
He had to get out of here. But as he crossed the room, the leather bindings on the edge of the scratched desk stopped him. “What is this?”
Impatient for an answer, he closed the distance and picked up the books. The spines flopped loosely, revealing the pages had been ripped out. “These were mine.”
They had been his lesson books from a happier time, when his parents were alive, when he’d been certain the world was a good place and he was a good person.
Iris had her shoulders up by her ears, but the minute he looked at her, her stance changed to one of shocked innocence. Wrapped in her cloak, Miss Campbell stood in her doorway. Her attention was on Iris.
Silence stretched out.
He slapped the leather-covered mill board against the desk. Iris jumped.
Velvet’s eyes narrowed. “I found them like that. I also found empty gin bottles in the bottom desk drawer.”
Iris turned surprised blue eyes on her governess.
“Don’t worry, I can supply suitable instruction without the primers,” Velvet said firmly.
He opened his mouth to yell at Iris. The little hellion deserved punishment. Except he never reprimanded her for fear he’d cross some invisible line and pile on punishment for her being her mother’s daughter. He clamped his lips closed. Miss Campbell had chosen to protect her charge and cast aspersions on her predecessor.
Velvet had yet to give a lesson to the stubborn student. No doubt her frustration level wasn’t high enough to set about destroying the tools of her trade. Yet. No, Iris had destroyed the books.
“One day, Iris, you will push me too far.”
Velvet’s gasp made him realize how badly his words must sound to a woman who suspected him of killing his wife. No wonder she had barred her door.
He bore the marks of his last struggle with Lilith, so he didn’t know why the mistrust always shocked him. He wheeled and headed out the door. He needed to be outside where the cool sea air would fill his lungs and the icy water would purge his body of carnal longings. Where he could plunge his arms into the surf until he was too tired to think, too tired to remember. Swimming was the only peace he ever had.
Iris risked looking at Miss Campbell. She stood wrapped in her cloak as if she might go out in her nightgown and bare feet. She didn’t know the new governess well enough to have a clue what she would say or if there would be punishment. The slight frown didn’t look promising.
The best defense might be to forestall the punishment. “You’re very pretty,” she said.
Miss Campbell studied her. “Burning books is usually the action of tyrants or those afraid of new ideas.” She raised a slim eyebrow. “Which are you?”
Her heart banging in her chest, Iris tried again. “My mama was a great beauty. I take after her.”
“Fairness of face is a gift or curse from God. You cannot take credit for it. Your nature, intelligence, and
He realized that his refusal to release her wages wouldn’t allow her to replace her worn garments. “I’ll . . . uh . . . summon the dressmaker.”
Velvet blanched. “No, that’s not necessary. I wasn’t suggesting I needed a dressing gown.” She shifted from one foot to the other.
In his experience, women didn’t turn down clothes, nor did they shove chairs under their door handles to keep others out without reason. But it was no surprise she didn’t trust him. No one did. Desperately needing the biting cold of the ocean, he swiveled and nearly knocked over Iris.
He steadied her and set her away. “Go back to bed. There is no reason for you to be up so early.”
He had to get out of here. But as he crossed the room, the leather bindings on the edge of the scratched desk stopped him. “What is this?”
Impatient for an answer, he closed the distance and picked up the books. The spines flopped loosely, revealing the pages had been ripped out. “These were mine.”
They had been his lesson books from a happier time, when his parents were alive, when he’d been certain the world was a good place and he was a good person.
Iris had her shoulders up by her ears, but the minute he looked at her, her stance changed to one of shocked innocence. Wrapped in her cloak, Miss Campbell stood in her doorway. Her attention was on Iris.
Silence stretched out.
He slapped the leather-covered mill board against the desk. Iris jumped.
Velvet’s eyes narrowed. “I found them like that. I also found empty gin bottles in the bottom desk drawer.”
Iris turned surprised blue eyes on her governess.
“Don’t worry, I can supply suitable instruction without the primers,” Velvet said firmly.
He opened his mouth to yell at Iris. The little hellion deserved punishment. Except he never reprimanded her for fear he’d cross some invisible line and pile on punishment for her being her mother’s daughter. He clamped his lips closed. Miss Campbell had chosen to protect her charge and cast aspersions on her predecessor.
Velvet had yet to give a lesson to the stubborn student. No doubt her frustration level wasn’t high enough to set about destroying the tools of her trade. Yet. No, Iris had destroyed the books.
“One day, Iris, you will push me too far.”
Velvet’s gasp made him realize how badly his words must sound to a woman who suspected him of killing his wife. No wonder she had barred her door.
He bore the marks of his last struggle with Lilith, so he didn’t know why the mistrust always shocked him. He wheeled and headed out the door. He needed to be outside where the cool sea air would fill his lungs and the icy water would purge his body of carnal longings. Where he could plunge his arms into the surf until he was too tired to think, too tired to remember. Swimming was the only peace he ever had.
Iris risked looking at Miss Campbell. She stood wrapped in her cloak as if she might go out in her nightgown and bare feet. She didn’t know the new governess well enough to have a clue what she would say or if there would be punishment. The slight frown didn’t look promising.
The best defense might be to forestall the punishment. “You’re very pretty,” she said.
Miss Campbell studied her. “Burning books is usually the action of tyrants or those afraid of new ideas.” She raised a slim eyebrow. “Which are you?”
Her heart banging in her chest, Iris tried again. “My mama was a great beauty. I take after her.”
“Fairness of face is a gift or curse from God. You cannot take credit for it. Your nature, intelligence, and
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