True Story (The Deverells, Book One) by Jayne Fresina Read Free Book Online Page B

soften her face, except those
tiny pearl earbobs. The bonnet set beside her on the table was a
simple, old-fashioned straw poke with a wide brim and a pewter
ribbon. The style of hat that hid a lady's face completely from the
side and reminded True of a horse wearing blinkers. Her version
even included a black widow's veil, just to be doubly sure she was
well hidden.
    "So you think you can put the master
in his place, eh? Make him behave himself? A sad little thing like
you?"
    "I didn't come here to be Mr.
Deverell's nanny."
    "It's a natural instinct in females.
Makes 'em think they can change a man, once they get their infernal
fingernails dug into 'im."
    "I keep my fingernails well trimmed
and always to myself."
    "That'll be a change for the master
then," he muttered drily.
    Her lips were very tightly pressed
together, her jaw set firm with the determined mien of one who
expected argument. And would cling to her side of it until blood
was drawn.
    "You seem tense, woman. Unduly
cross."
    "I have endured a long and tiring
journey, which involved changing coaches many times. You'll have to
forgive me if I'm not bright as a daisy."
    "Should have come at least part of the
distance by railway. 'Tis faster and cheaper."
    "Cheaper?" Her shoulders became even
more rigid, as if bone might soon poke through the material. Even
her lips paled. "Money is not a concern." Her spine was ramrod
straight, her expression defensive. "And as for the railway, I
would never venture onto that wicked, modern
contraption."
    "It is quite safe. There are just as
many accidents with coaches as there are with steam trains, but
because the railway is still a novelty, we hear those tragedies
reported the loudest. It's progress, Mrs. Monday. No need to fear
it."
    "I am not afraid of steam
engines," she exclaimed scornfully. "Nevertheless, if I must travel, I
shall continue to go by traditional methods, tried and trusted. Not
something that relies upon fire and rude eruptions of explosive
steam to get me from one part of the country to another in a
cacophony of vulgar noise."
    Laughter sputtered out of him. Of
course, she wasn't afraid; she wanted him to believe she merely
objected to the noise, the soot and the speed. "Well then, you must
do as you wish."
    "Thank you, Mr. Jameson. I
shall. How relieved I am to have your approval."
    True rubbed a finger along his bottom
lip, watching her thoughtfully. "If money is no concern, why would
a young lady like yourself travel so far from your home to work for
an old rogue like Deverell?"
    "I hardly think that's any business of
yours, Mr. Jameson. So, if you don't mind, I'll keep my reasons to
myself."
    Well, whatever she said,
he knew she needed the coin. Chalke had told him about her
financial situation. But was this post really her only option? He'd
expected an elderly lady with a hint of desperation about her
edges. There was nothing desperate about Mrs. Monday apart from her
clothing. She acted as if she did him a favor by taking the post, not
vice versa.
    As the owner and creator of London's
finest gentleman's club, and a man who had made his fortune from
understanding the stimulus of risk, True Deverell had seen a great
many gamblers throw in their all to 'play deep', unable to walk
away from a chance. But while he was adept at reading a customer's
thoughts and motives, his mind easily calculating the odds against
them, in the case of Mrs. Monday he suddenly hadn't a
clue.
    Before either of them could speak
again someone entered the kitchen behind him and her gaze shifted
upward, over his head.
    "Mr. Deverell, sir, I just brought in
the lobster pots and tied up the boat. Looks like a chill fog is
coming in over the sea tonight. I lit the beacon early,
sir."
    "Ah, thank you, Jim," he said,
stretching back in the creaky wooden chair, still watching the
woman across the table. "Yes, the weather has definitely turned
today and I think we've seen the last of the summer."
    Mrs. Monday blinked, just once, and
then she