Chapter Two
Miss Isabella Browning could not dispel the persistent feeling that she was being watched.
This unsettling feeling came upon Isabella soon after entering the small park with her three young charges in tow. She quickly made a sweeping glance of the immediate area, but did not spy anyone exhibiting the least bit of interest in her or the children. Yet the feeling persisted.
“We want to race our twigs in the water, Miss Browning,” a young voice called out.
Isabella shifted her attention to the small boy addressing her.
Master Robert Braun, age five, stood on the grassy slope near the shallow lake and fidgeted restlessly with the two sticks he held in his chubby hands.
For once the child appeared to actually be waiting for Isabella to give her permission before he went blithely along his way.
Of course, Robert hadn’t exactly asked if he and his two sisters could play in the water, but at least he had paused a moment to voice his intentions to his governess. Isabella sighed. Did she dare hope nine months of constant battling with Robert were finally starting to pay off?
“You and your sisters may race your sticks as long as you promise to be very careful and not get too close to the water’s edge,” Isabella decided. “If you become too excited and boisterous, however, you will not be allowed to continue. Is that understood?”
With a barely perceivable nod, Robert turned his back on his governess and ran toward the water.
His two sisters, Guinevere and Caroline, trailed dutifully in his wake.
Although both girls were older, seven and nine respectively, they blindly followed their parents’ lead and deferred to Robert in all things.
Consequently, the young boy was treated like a royal prince in the Braun household.
As the children’s governess, Isabella strived constantly to temper Robert’s spoiled and demanding attitude.
It was a thankless and often frustrating task, but rare moments such as this morning provided Isabella with a glimmer of hope that she was finally achieving some measure of success with the headstrong boy.
Isabella followed behind the children slowly, climbing the sloping embankment where they were gathering.
She kept a keen eye on their activities, but became distracted when she again felt prickles of awareness along her spine, and the uncomfortable sensation of being under the observation of a stranger’s eye.
She whirled around suddenly, half expecting to see someone standing behind her.
There was no one, but the vague sense of uneasiness would not leave.
There was no obvious explanation for Isabella’s unease since she was very familiar with this small park.
She and the children came here at least three times a week, weather permitting.
Still, Isabella would have felt calmer if the coachman, Hodgson, had been able to stay with them today as he usually did, instead of driving off to Bond Street on the orders of the mistress of the house.
Hodgson would be returning to collect Isabella and the children after he finished his errands.
She hoped the coachman would not be too long in arriving.
Isabella continued to experience an unfamiliar sense of foreboding, but she was determined to remain calm.
The park was not very crowded at this hour of the morning, yet it was not deserted either.
There were other nurses walking with their charges, as well as several gentlemen on horseback.
Surely the gentlemen could be counted upon to lend assistance if the need arose.
Isabella shook her head and forced her mind to clear itself of these ridiculous notions.
She was behaving skittishly and for no apparent logical reason.
A sudden vivid recollection of a gruesome article she had read in the Morning Gazette about a young child being kidnapped off the streets of London caused a quickening of Isabella’s heart rate.
Perhaps she was not being foolish. Maybe she was being watched.
Although not of the gentry, Mr. Braun was a very wealthy man, and devoted to his three children.
He would, without question, pay any ransom necessary to gain their safe release.
Isabella spared an instant of pity for anyone foolish enough to target the boisterous Braun siblings for an abduction. After one hour of the girls’ sniveling and Robert’s belligerent shouting, any man, no matter how hardened a criminal, would be regretting his rash actions.
Isabella silently chastised herself for her unkind thoughts.
The Braun children might not be the most likable individuals she had ever encountered, but she had a duty to care for them, and she would perform her duty to the very best of her abilities.
Including keeping the children safe from kidnappers, real or imagined.
In all honesty, Isabella admitted to herself, she was very fortunate to have this particular position. At twenty-five, she had already been dismissed from three previous jobs, and she could ill afford to lose another post.
Isabella’s eyes darted speculatively around the park, searching again for signs of danger.
The Braun children were alone by the edge of the pond, engaged in a heated verbal battle Isabella feared would soon escalate into a physical one.
She began walking toward them, deciding she had merely been allowing her active imagination to override her common sense, when a deep voice behind her nearly startled the wits out of her.
“My God, Emmeline, is it really you?”
Isabella stiffened in alarm. She jerked her head quickly toward the voice, not certain what to expect. She held her breath in fear, but slowly let it out when she viewed the man who had spoken.
He was standing behind her, a fair distance away, but even at that range Isabella’s experienced eye could see that his clothes were cut of the finest cloth, with a graceful, tailored fit that only Weston could achieve.
A criminal would never be so well turned out.
Besides, the stranger had called her Emmeline.
He obviously had been observing her, not because he was waiting for an opportunity to snatch the Braun children away, but because he believed she was someone he knew.
“I am afraid you are mistaken, sir,” Isabella stated in a prim voice that carried a trace of relief. “My name is not Emmeline. And I am quite certain we are not acquainted.”
Isabella squared her shoulders and waited expectantly for the stranger to turn and walk away.
As she waited, she studied him openly, from his muscular torso, with its forest-green, form-fitting jacket, to his skin-tight, fawn-colored leather breeches and high black Hessian riding boots.
The cream-colored embroidered waistcoat called her attention to his flat abdomen, and his snowy white cravat emphasized his deeply tanned features.
Although the fit and quality of his clothes proclaimed him a gentleman, he possessed an air of dishevelment that seemed oddly out of character.
The stranger was returning her direct stare with equal scrutiny.
Isabella did not wither under his heated gaze, but when her eyes met his penetrating gaze, she felt a rush of uneasiness.
She knew for a certainty she had never met this man before, and yet she felt he was clearly under the misconception that they knew each other.
“It truly is you, Emmeline.”
The sound of the stranger’s low, husky voice jolted Isabella out of her musing.
His voice matched the rest of him—bold, strong and resonant.
He advanced on her and she found herself looking directly up into his handsome face.
Hard, steely gray eyes that held all the arrogance and confidence in the world focused intently on Isabella.
“I cannot believe I have finally found you, Emmeline. After all this time.”
Up close, the stranger’s features were uncommonly handsome—angular, chiseled, and decisively classic. He carried himself with a military bearing Isabella found both intriguing and intimidating. He did not openly threaten her, yet she had the distinct feeling he was holding himself in tight control.
As the stranger continued to regard her with a ruthless expression on his darkly handsome face, Isabella felt the hair on the nape of her neck raise. There was something dark and dangerous about this man. Everything about him seemed hard, unyielding and determined.
“I . . . I am sorry,” Isabella stammered, annoyed at allowing a tremor to slip into her voice. “As I previously informed you, sir, you have me confused with someone else.”
The stranger cocked his dark head slightly to one side. A stray lock of midnight-black curls fell onto his forehead. It made him look even more dangerous.
“Come now, Emmeline,” he responded in his deep voice. “Is that is all you have to say to me after two long years?”
He took another step forward, and Isabella had the distinct impression he was having to restrain himself from taking hold of her. Instinctively she stepped backward. The stranger halted instantly when he saw her hasty withdrawal.
Damien St. Lawrence held his breath as he glared in mute astonishment at the women standing before him.
It took every ounce of military training and discipline he possessed to control the desperate urge he felt to rush at Emmeline, grab her by the shoulders, and shake her until her teeth rattled.
But the earl would not succumb to his baser desires.
Silently, methodically, he cautioned himself to be very, very careful.
He did not want to startle Emmeline. Now that he had finally cornered her, the last thing Damien wanted was for his victim to bolt.