The Wicked Governess (Blackhaven Brides Book 6)(43)
“Forgive me,” he said humbly. “I know we are not acquainted, but I understand you are Miss Grey, Rosa Benedict’s governess.”
“I am.”
“My name is Swayle. Marcus Swayle.” He seemed to expect the name to mean something to her. When she only gazed at him somewhat blankly, he said anxiously, “Please tell me…how is she?”
Caroline frowned. “How is who, sir?”
“Little Rosa.”
“She is very well,” Caroline replied.
Mr. Swayle smiled deprecatingly. “I can see you are wondering what business it is of mine, and legally speaking, the answer is none. However, you should know that I regard Rosa as a beloved daughter.”
“You do?” Javan’s warning about this man echoed through her mind. “Someone who must never, ever be anywhere near Rosa.
“This is hard,” Mr. Swayle said ruefully. “I can only imagine what that man has told you about me.”
“To the best of my recollection, he has never mentioned you at all.”
This seemed to take Mr., Swayle aback, though only for a moment. “I expect he is ashamed, for I know all. The cruel way he treated his wife and daughter.”
“Cruel?” she repeated, startled. Even when she’d first known him, his only sign of gentleness had been toward his daughter. “Sir, you are mistaken.”
She began to turn away, but he flung out one hand to detain her, only swiftly withdrawing it again with a hasty apology. But belatedly, his possible identity struck Caroline with all the force of a hammer.
“You were her—” she blurted, only just breaking off before she uttered the word lover.
“Her lover?” Swayle said bitterly. “That is what he told you? It is true I loved her before he even met her and forced her to marry him. He wanted her money, for she was a wealthy heiress. You may think this wrong of us, but it was such a relief to us when we thought he was dead. I married her, was living with her as her husband. She and Rosa and I were a happy family at last and blissful that she was expecting my child. And then he came home. Clearly not dead at all. Enraged at finding us together, he beat me, half-killed me—as you see, I am still recovering. That, I can forgive. But Louisa’s death, that of my unborn child, that is firmly at his door. And I fear so for Rosa.”
Caroline’s ears rang with his terrible accusations. She felt almost dizzy. Williams strode purposely through the side gate, glaring at her.
“Care for her, I beg you,” Swayle said urgently. “And please, should you need help, or just wish to know more, you may find me at the hotel. Goodbye, Miss Grey.”
Bemused, she stared after his retreating back as he walked back toward the church, leaning heavily on his cane.
“We’re going home, Miss,” Williams said abruptly.
“Of course.” She turned with him to walk to the side gate.
“What did he want?” Williams demanded aggressively.
“You know him? I wondered if he was a little mad.”
Williams snorted. “Not he. Nor even deluded, though he pretends. Best if you ignore him. What did he say to you?”
“He asked after Rosa,” Caroline replied vaguely. “Mainly.”
Williams paused. “You do know you mustn’t let her see him?”
“Let her see him?” she repeated. “Does she want to?”
“No,” Williams said flatly. “And don’t believe a word that bas—that man—says.”
*
Marcus Swayle walked directly from church to the rather disgusting town tavern. Although he wasn’t much of a man for slumming it—he liked his comforts—this was the second time in two days he’d found himself there. The first was yesterday after coming upon Javan Benedict at the castle rout.
He knew almost at once that he shouldn’t have fled the castle, leaving Benedict, as it were, in possession of the field. But the shock had been great. And in truth, he was physically afraid of the man. It was only in the tavern, drinking a restorative brandy, that the possibilities for revenge had begun to percolate.
After the death of Louisa, Benedict had seemed to disappear from the face of the earth. Nursing his bruised body and aggrieved by the removal of Louisa’s funds from his reach, Swayle had merely been glad of his enemy’s absence. By the time he had recovered enough to re-enter London society, the juicy gossip of Benedict’s return to England had almost died down—until Swayle had added fuel to the flame.
It had begun as mere vitriol against the man who had taken everything from him. And yes, perhaps there was a little shame in being beaten so comprehensively in a fight with a man who could barely stand. So, he never mentioned Benedict’s injuries in his version of events. And it was then he had invented two ingenious fictions—that he and Louisa had been so convinced of Benedict’s death that they had married, and that he feared for Rosa’s life at the hands of her monstrous father. Society had lapped it up greedily. Only when Richard Benedict had returned to London, had Swayle felt it politic to depart the capital for the sake of his “shattered health”.
He’d never expected to find the Benedicts here in Blackhaven, of all places. He was short of funds and in search of a wealthy woman to part from her fortune. Preferably a sickly widow, since she was likely to be more grateful for his attentions. And of course, she might die and leave him free to enjoy his inheritance unencumbered. Having obtained an introduction to Lady Tamar, he had expected her rout to be the best place to begin his search…until he had looked into the cold eyes of his enemy.