Falcon and the Sparrow Read online

  He had just resumed his seat by the fire and picked up a book when the woman knocked again. Surely I made myself clear. Slapping the book down, Chase jumped to his feet and stomped toward the hall when Sebastian appeared in the doorway.

  “Where have you been?” Chase planted his fists on his waist. “Never mind.” He shook his head as Sebastian parted his lips to reply. “ ’Tis but a beggar. Send her to the kitchen door.” He waved a hand in dismissal.

  “Very good, sir.” Sebastian bowed.

  Chase heard the door open, the rain hammering on the walkway, and voices, muffled and hesitant. Finally, the door thumped shut, and he nodded in satisfaction as he picked up his book again and began to browse its pages.

  “Begging your pardon, sir—a Miss Dominique Dawson to see you.” Sebastian’s haughty voice floated into the room like a taunt. Chase swiveled around to see a woman shivering from the cold and staring at him with vacant eyes. “Who the blazes is Miss Dawson?” “She says she is the new governess, sir.”

  Was that a smirk on the butler’s face? Chase’s stomach roiled.

  The governess. He glared at the pathetic woman as guilt assailed him. What was the date? The tenth of March. Yes. Of course, the day she was to arrive. And he’d forgotten.

  And he had not sent a carriage to retrieve her.

  Gripping the book, he slammed it onto the table and crossed the room. Her gaze lowered under his perusal. He would expect a lady to be furious at him for his blatant disregard, but here she stood, cowering like a common servant.

  “Are you Admiral Stuart Dawson’s daughter?”

  “I am,” she replied with a quivering voice.

  “You look nothing like him.”

  “So I am told, Admiral.” She brushed chestnut curls from her forehead as drops of rain seeped from the long strands and splattered onto the floor.

  “Humph.” Could this sopping creature actually be the daughter of the great Admiral Dawson?

  “Take her cloak and bag, Sebastian, and have Larena prepare the coal grate in the governess’s chamber. Then return and escort Miss Dawson to her quarters.”

  Sebastian eased the frock from the lady’s shoulders, holding the wet garment at arm’s length, then hefted her dripping valise and left.

  Chase gestured toward the fire. “Would you care to warm yourself while you wait, Miss Dawson?”

  She offered him a flash of the most brilliant amber eyes he’d ever seen before sloshing past him into the drawing room.

  The sweet scent of rain perfumed with lilacs followed in her wake. Chase noted the way her gown clung to her tiny waist and the way her chestnut hair bounced in wavy strings as she walked. A rush of warmth surged through him that surely was caused by the fire. “I’d offer you a seat, but …” He allowed his eyes to rove over her, but remorse abruptly dampened his perusal when he remembered again that this poor girl’s sodden condition was his fault.

  “I understand,” she said without looking at him. Still trembling, she eased up to the fire, crossed her arms over her chest, and stared into the flames.

  In the flickering light, shadows of glittering gold gave her skin the rich luster of pearls reflecting the sunlight on a warm day. She gave him a sideways glance.

  Chase cleared his throat. Egad, he’d been staring at her. He clasped his hands behind his back. “Have you any experience as a governess?”

  The lady bit her lip and began to speak, but Chase could not make out her words.

  “Speak up, woman,” he barked, causing her to jump, but he suddenly regretted his harsh tone. He was no longer on board his ship dealing with hardened seamen.

  Her delicate fingers clamped onto her arms as if she were frightened—or perhaps angry. He would prefer the latter. He had no place for weaklings, either on his ship or in his house.

  He raised a brow, waiting for her to contain herself and respond. If she couldn’t handle a few questions, she certainly couldn’t handle governing his son. The sooner he discovered the truth, the better, for he had a sudden urge to dismiss her. Her presence was having a strange effect on him.

  “As you are aware, Admiral”—she surprised him with a determined look—“I am well educated in all the classics: Latin, philosophy, mathematics, history, music, and natural science. I assisted my mother in my younger brother’s instruction.”

  Guilt showered over Chase. The woman had recently lost both of her parents, and she couldn’t be more than five and twenty. “I was most grieved to hear about your mother’s illness.”

  She turned her chin aside and hid her expression from him.

  Chase shook off a surge of compassion. He was already doing enough by giving the poor girl a position that would provide for her needs. He owed that much to her father for his exemplary service in the Royal Navy. “But there’ll be no need for you to instruct William in mathematics, science, or any of the more difficult subjects. I have hired a male tutor for those topics, which are no doubt beyond your feminine knowledge and ability.”

  The woman’s creamy skin deepened to dark red, and he wondered if the warmth from the fire had suddenly penetrated the icy chill of the rain. Her jaw jutted forward, and she snapped her sharp eyes his way. “Then I fail to see why I am here, Admiral.”

  “You are here as a favor to your father, miss,” Chase huffed then chided himself for being so blunt. “But also because my son needs a woman’s touch. By all means, teach him reading, writing, music, and art, but leave the more challenging endeavors to the men.”

  She folded her lips together and stared into the flames, silent for a moment. “If you wish to waste your money, that is your affair,” she said without looking at him. “But I assure you that you will find my female knowledge and ability more than adequate.”

  Chase leaned against the mantel and crossed his boots at his ankles, a surprising delight welling within him at her curt tone. “You have a slight French accent.” The sound of the enemy tainted her lips, yet why did he find it so charming?

  “Oui. I mean yes. I have lived in France these past four years.” Though her lips trembled and she failed to meet his gaze, there was the hint of spite in her voice. Toward him or toward France?

  “How was your mother able to bring you and your brother into France during the war, if I may ask?”

  “My mother has—had—friends in high places who were able to transport us in through Guernsey, monsie—Admiral.” She shuddered, perhaps remembering the reception she no doubt received as the daughter of a British admiral.

  “Quite difficult to live among the enemy, I suppose?” Chase gauged her reaction. Surely her loyalties lay with Britain.

  “My mother was French,” she replied, narrowing her eyes upon him, then offered him a hesitant smile. “But my allegiance lies and always will lie with England.”

  “I would expect nothing less.” He snorted. “But I suggest you keep your French heritage to yourself while here in London.” Chase cocked his head and studied the way her chest rose and fell with each swift breath. Why was she so nervous?

  She lowered her gaze again, and her long ebony lashes cast tiny shadows over her cheeks. A quiver lifted her shoulders, and she pressed a hand to her stomach. “Are you ill, Miss Dawson?”

  “No.” Her hard gaze snapped to his. “Just wet and cold.”

  So she was angry at his blatant disregard. Good. At least she possessed some pluck. He cleared his throat. “I forgot you were to arrive today.”

  “Indeed.” She raised a slender brow.

  He frowned and waved a hand through the air. “Nevertheless, my son needs a strong hand, Miss Dawson.” Chase crossed his arms over his chest and began to pace in front of the floral-patterned ottoman. “You seem somewhat frail for the task.” He stopped and stared at her. “Are you able to handle a six-year-old boy?”

  “Father, Father!”

  Chase looked up to see William skipping into the room, blond hair flopping and eyes alight with excitement.

  “What have I told you about raisi
ng your voice in this house?” Chase scolded him, and the elation on the boy’s face fell to the floor. Chase tensed his jaw, rebuffing a niggling feeling of self-reproach. But he could not have his son behaving like an animal. “Out with you now, and enter the room like a gentleman.”

  His housekeeper, Mrs. Hensworth, entered behind William and, after directing a sour gaze toward Chase, led the boy from the room. A moment later, the boy entered again in silence, his blue eyes straight ahead and his arms by his sides. He reached his father and raised his gaze to Miss Dawson, who had turned from the fire to face him.

  “Father, is she my new governess?”

  “Yes, William, this is Miss Dawson.”

  The young boy allowed his gaze to cover her from head to toe. “She looks like a drowned rat, Father.”

  Miss Dawson giggled, and her laughter lit up the room like warm sunshine.

  But embarrassment flushed through Chase, and he leaned with pointed finger to his son. “Apologize to Miss Dawson at once.”

  “ ’Tis not necessary, Admiral. Your son speaks the truth.” She knelt, her gown sending a squishing echo through the room, and smiled at William, whose face instantly brightened. “We shall get along marvelously, shan’t we, William?”

  William displayed a row of gleaming white teeth and started to say something but then eyed Chase and slammed his mouth shut. Chase’s heart sank at the boy’s obvious fear of him. He longed to be a good father, longed to pick the boy up in his arms and coddle him, but whenever he came close to doing just that, something deep within him stiffened into severity.

  “Mrs. Hensworth, take William to his room and prepare him for dinner,” Chase ordered just as Sebastian entered the room.

  “Miss Dawson’s chamber is ready, sir.”

  “Thank you, Sebastian.” Chase bowed toward the new governess as she rose and watched William leave. “He’s a lovely boy, Admiral.” “He needs discipline.”

  A shadow of disapproval showed in her eyes before she shifted them away. Chase cleared his throat. Who was this woman to judge him? What did she know of losing a spouse, of trying to raise a child on one’s own? He pursed his lips and gestured for her to follow Sebastian. “After you are settled, we shall discuss William’s tutelage.”

  She nodded, gathered her skirts, and followed Sebastian from the room.

  A chill overcame Chase at her departure, and he stepped toward the fire. Despite the occasional hints of strength in her eyes, she appeared too fragile, too skittish to be of any use to him or William. The boy needed a strict, regimented upbringing, especially when Chase was away at sea—a condition he hoped to find himself in very soon. For Admiral Dawson’s sake, he would give her a week to prove herself a competent governess. Then if she failed, he could dismiss her with a clear conscience.

  Dominique stepped through the open door into the room Sebastian indicated and listened to the click of the butler’s shoes retreating down the hallway. A tall woman dressed in a simple white frock that gathered below her chest with a blue ribbon, adjusted the bedding on a Spanish-style carved oak bed centered in the chamber. Three candles offered the only light in the room besides the dreary haze that filtered in through a tall window to the left of the bed. Below it stood a small writing desk, and to the right of the bed, an elegant chest of drawers. On her left, a dressing closet extended outward into the room.

  “Oh, beg your pardon, miss. I didn’t hear you come in.” The woman turned around and curtsied. Dominique shivered and tried to smile, sending the maid rushing over to her.

  “Why, you’re soaked through.” She led Dominique over to the tiny coal grate in the corner. “I’ve just lit this, but it will give you some warmth.” Scurrying back across the room, she closed the door. “I’m Larena Scott. I’ll be your chambermaid.” She grabbed Dominique’s valise from a tall-backed chair by the door and placed it on the bed. “Allow me to assist you out of these wet clothes, miss, before you get sick.”

  “Thank you,” Dominique managed to stutter. “I’m Dominique Dawson,” she said through chattering teeth as the maid began unbuttoning her dress.

  “Pleased to meet you, Miss Dawson.”

  Dominique hadn’t realized how truly cold she was until this moment. Perhaps it was her alarming meeting with the admiral that had kept her mind from her physical discomfort. His rough demeanor had surprised her, for the only other admiral she’d known was her father, and he’d possessed a gentle and loving disposition. In fact, Admiral Randal had been nothing but rude to her from the moment he’d slammed the door in her face. No, rather ’twas from the moment he left her standing on the docks in the rain. Of all the nerve! What sort of gentleman treated a lady thus?

  When Larena finished with the buttons, Dominique slid behind the elaborately beaded dressing screen, gathered the folds of her muddy gown, and hoisted it over her head. She laid it on top of the screen and then removed her wet petticoats, tossing them beside her dress.

  “I see you’ve passed the first test,” Larena said from the other side as she gathered Dominique’s soiled clothes.

  “Test?” Dominique fiddled with the lace of her stay, unable to loosen the knots. “Would you help me, Miss Scott?”

  The maid circled behind the screen and tugged upon Dominique’s stays. “Yes, I fear the admiral tosses out most of the governesses who come for the job after only a few moments’ time.” She chuckled and helped Dominique remove her stays before giving her privacy again. After a few seconds, a wool robe appeared over the top of the screen.

  Renewed fear increased Dominique’s uncontrollable shivers. She’d never considered that the admiral might dismiss her. If he did, she would fail in her mission before she’d begun, and then what would become of Marcel? She tried to calm her pounding heart. She must not show her fear, not even to the maid. “I can’t imagine why he retained me. He told me more than once that he perceived me to be too weak to manage his son.”

  “Did he, now? And all while you were standing there shivering.” Larena clicked her tongue. “Where has that man’s chivalry gone? Out to sea with the rest of him, I suppose.”

  “Why is he so angry?” Dominique gathered the wool robe the maid had flung over the screen and tightened the sash around her waist. She might be able to understand his animosity toward her, for clearly he disliked her, but not toward his dear son. She’d never forget the dejected look on poor William’s face after his father berated him.

  “Oh, he’s always that way, miss. Don’t take it to heart. He’s usually far meaner with the ones he likes.”

  Dominique made her way to the grate and huddled by the coals, longing for a hint of warmth to reach her from the embers just beginning to glow red.

  “I suppose he must like me a great deal, then.” Dominique smiled despite the tight ball of fury and fear battling in her chest.

  “Well, ’tis no wonder with that figure.”

  Dominique flung a hand to her chest and stared at Larena, aghast. “Oh my, I did not mean to imply that I think the admiral’s intentions are in any way dishonorable.”

  Larena moved to Dominique’s open valise. “Well, why not?” The maid shot her a knowing glance, her eyes glittering with mischief. “He is a man, after all.” She finished pulling out Dominique’s clothes and laying them across the bed. “A handsome one at that.”

  “I suppose,” Dominique remarked as if she hadn’t noticed, but visions of the admiral forced their way into her mind. The wavy ends of his mahogany hair tied behind him, those dark brown eyes that reminded her of chocolate she had tasted once in Paris. He was tall, broad shouldered, and his masculine presence had filled the room. She’d been struck by the sharp edges of his face—even found them pleasing at first—until his mouth opened and anger spewed out of it like dragon’s fire.

  “You suppose? My dear, the men in France must be very handsome, indeed.”

  Heat burned Dominique’s cheeks while a sudden alarm tightened her throat. “You don’t imagine that’s why he’s keeping me, do you?�
� Her mission would be precarious enough without having to dodge the advances of her employer.

  “No, my dear.” Larena grinned. “Put that thought out of your head. Though he doesn’t appear it all the time, there’s one thing the admiral is, and that is a gentleman.”

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “I know him well,” she continued as she went to answer it. “I’ve been a chambermaid in the Randal home for nine years. I was Mrs. Randal’s lady’s maid.”

  The plump lady Dominique had seen with William entered. “The admiral is having a few guests for dinner tonight. He requests your presence promptly at seven o’clock, Miss Dawson.”

  Dominique’s heart skipped a beat. Why would he invite a governess to his dinner party?

  Lorena smiled in her direction. “Miss Dawson, this is Mrs. Hensworth, the housekeeper.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Hensworth, but I cannot possibly attend.” Dominique smiled. “I’m utterly exhausted from my trip, and”—she thought of another quick excuse—“the only proper gown I have is covered with mud.”

  Mrs. Hensworth’s cheeks swelled into chubby red balls as if Dominique had just told her she intended to kill the king of England. “But, miss—”

  “Never mind, Mrs. Hensworth.” Larena gestured for her to leave. “Please tell the admiral Miss Dawson would love to come.” With a sigh, the housekeeper wobbled away, and Larena shut the door.

  Dominique shook her head. She was not quite ready to begin her career of espionage. Not yet. “But I can’t—”

  Larena took her by the hand and led her to the dressing closet, where two elegant gowns hung side by side. “The last governess left these. They are quite lovely. She was about your size, too.”

  Dread slithered up Dominique’s back, not only because her excuse had just vanished, but because of the abandoned wardrobe. “Why would she leave such beautiful gowns?”