Page 7 of Indecently Employed
It had to be now. She must be braver than this. It would never be easy, and she imagined how tense the scene would become if she didn’t speak—the two of them alone in his study, with her attempting to not think of how handsome he was. “I apologize for the hour, but I’m afraid I must tender my…” The words fell away. Agog, she clutched the letter in her hands as she watched him close the distance between them.
“Your what?” A spark of displeasure lit his eyes, usually so calm and steady. He snatched the letter from her hands, and Susanna recoiled, startled by the obvious fraying of his patience. She’d never seen him like this before, not that she could recall.
He ripped the seal with such a ferocity that she stepped back, her body warning her to get away.
“I’m so sorry, my lord, truly I am. However—” she started, her voice wavering as she sought to explain what seemed a rash action on her part. But he cut through her whispered words with a verbal attack.
“Your resignation?!” he bellowed, his face twisting with fury.
Shocked to suddenly find herself in an altercation, Susanna took a breath and gathered her wits. She had to speak, and speak with conviction. She couldn’t fall into blubbering if the handsome, genial earl was going to devolve into some feral beast.
“I’ve accepted another position.”
“A position? You have a position here!”
“I… I understand that and I will forever be grateful to you, my lord, but…”
“What about Lady Matilda?” he roared, flinging his arm out as if he hoped he might hit something, or someone.
Susanna blanched, watching her letter fly from his hand and flutter to the floor. She’d been holding up admirably, but the fear finally overwhelmed her. Tears filled her eyes. She clutched her hands together, pressing them against her chest in a last defense.
“My lord, if you would allow me… please.” She had to leave, to get away.Run, her mind entreated her, over and over, as if she were actually in control of her legs at the moment.
“Where?” he snarled. “Where? Who? Who is your new employer?” He took a step toward her.
Panic exploded in her, and she put out a hand to hold him back. He grabbed it, his grip tight on her wrist.
She let out a sob, and he looked down to where he grasped her. Suddenly he released his hold and stepped back, a look of horrible realization on his face.
“Who? I shall call for the carriage this moment.” He forced the words out, clearly struggling as he attempted to modulate his voice and regain his composure.
Susanna clutched herself, shaking. She wouldn’t look at him.
“Tell me where to send you, that you might not suffer another night in my godforsaken presence.”
Susanna grimaced and braced herself. “Mr. Sedley… Ajax Sedley, that is… he has a… a… a daughter, and requires the engagement of a governess since he intends to return to Yorkshire…” she choked out, desperate for it to be over, wanting but unable to wipe her pitifully snotty face.
“Sedley?” he said, menace returning to his words.
No, no more of this. Susanna reached for the tiny shred of bravery that remained in her, clutching it for dear life. Finally, she looked up to meet his eye.
She half expected to see a monster where her now former employer had stood—a terrible face twisted with hatred, looming over her with a fantastical sort of villainy. But she didn’t. She saw Francis de Vauville—a broken, pathetic excuse for an earl, his hair falling limply in his face, his lip swollen and caked with dried blood. He was weak. Hateful. How had she ever considered such a vile, cruel-hearted man attractive?
She narrowed her eyes, practically seething with loathing as she returned his stare. She refused to back down. Not now. Susanna held her ground and glared.I see you for what you are.
Finally, after what felt like ages, he yielded, swallowing as he dropped his gaze.
Still her body quivered, but the panic dissipated in a rush as he walked away to stare into the fire.
“Leave,” he whispered, not turning his head.
He didn’t have to say another word. Susanna bolted from the study, feeling the pounding of her heartbeat in her head as she rushed up the several flights of stairs to her quarters. The climb usually winded her, but she barely noticed it tonight. Safe in her tiny, cold room, she shut the door with purpose and threw the latch. The small, rickety bed beckoned, a perfectly acceptable place to collapse and cry.
No. She drew a bracing breath, then went to the wardrobe to fetch her half-full carpet bag. She had to leave, had to escape. She never wanted to set eyes on Francis de Vauville again. She’d had enough of him in just the last few minutes to last several lifetimes. A tiny, menacing voice in her head reminded her that merely a fortnight ago she’d not only welcomed butyearnedfor his attentions, but Susanna swatted it away. A useless, unhelpfulthought. Instead she produced her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, swiped at her nose.
Thankfully, she’d entered the household with scant few personal effects, and she’d already packed most of her clothing, having anticipated a departure on the morrow. She placed her bag on the bed and opened it. Never had she imagined she’d leave like a thief in the night.
Susanna retrieved her nightgown, catching her reflection in the tiny mirror hanging over the beat-up washstand.Pride is the chief and original sin, her father’s words involuntarily reminded her. Still holding the garment, Susanna walked over to the mirror and studied herself, not knowing how to feel about what she saw. She knew her face was pleasing, but she prayed she was not smug about it. She’d never suffered from skin complaints like some, and she frequently thanked the Lord for her smooth, fine complexion. Tonight, though, her eyes were red and swollen, and she appeared pallid, the lamplight casting dancing shadows across the bridge of her delicate nose and full lips.
