Ann Lethbridge - The Governess and the Earl

She sat down again.

‘Lord Jonathon is to remain within doors at all times.’

She felt her jaw drop. ‘Young children need fresh air and exercise. Your son should learn about the natural world around him. Any governess worth her salt would say the same.’

His jaw flexed. The hand at rest on the table clenched and the sinews in his neck corded. At any moment he would strike the desk the way he had struck his son’s bed. Apparently the man really did have a dangerous temper.

He slowly uncurled his fingers—strong, long fingers. He stared down at his hands for a very long moment, his broad chest rising and falling with each slow breath. Finally, he looked up. ‘Very well, but my son must be accompanied by a footman outside the house. He is not to go beyond Merrivale’s boundary or converse with strangers. Do I make myself clear?’

What made him so protective of his son? His stern command prevented her from asking. ‘Perfectly clear.’

He rose to his feet, looming above her. The coldness of his face chilled her like a north wind in winter. She resisted the urge to shrink into her chair.

‘There is one final thing I require,’ he said softly, with a bitter twist to his lips. ‘You have no doubt heard rumours about my wife’s death.’ The words reverberated around the room like thunderclaps.

Her gasp of shock refused to be suppressed. She stared up at him, her heart pounding against her ribs.

He nodded grimly. ‘I can see you have. They are not to be repeated in my son’s hearing. Do I have your word?’ An unspoken threat of dismissal hung in the air.

‘You do,’ she whispered from a throat too tight to swallow, though she very much felt the need.

‘Then you have a position, Mrs Drake.’

‘May I address something with you, my lord?’ For pity’s sake, did she really want to do this now? But she already had his attention.

His dark cold eyes observed her from beneath lowered brows as he sat down. ‘Well?’

No help for it but to speak her mind. She kept her gaze deliberately steady. ‘I do not believe in rewarding children for bad behaviour … bribing them.’

He stiffened, his glower deeper and fiercer. ‘I’ll not tolerate corporal punishment, Mrs Drake.’ His voice was a deep growl.

She flushed hot. ‘Oh, no, certainly not. I believe it is better to explain things to children than buy their obedience or indeed use force to gain compliance. They learn bad habits as quickly as they learn good ones.’

A dark eyebrow shot up and his fierce expression turned quizzical. ‘I will watch your methods with interest, then.’ Amber lights flickered in his eyes.

Was he laughing at her? Did he think she could not manage a small boy? Though she’d regretfully given up thoughts of a family of her own, she loved the idea of helping other people’s children through the pitfalls of growing up. She’d made enough stumbles of her own to give her an understanding of the pangs of youth.

Fine, let him laugh. She’d make him eat his opinion, and she’d do it in a week. ‘Thank you, my lord.’ She rose.

‘You will dine with me,’ he said.

The command jolted every nerve in her body. Attraction or fear? If she had any sense, it was fear. Men of the Earl of Ralston’s ilk did not dine with governesses—not unless they had ignoble intentions.

Had he somehow guessed the unruly flutters excited in her body? If he had, she’d need to be on her guard. Against him. And more importantly against her own inclinations.

‘A tray in my room will suffice.’

He curled his lip. ‘Don’t the servants have enough to do without running trays upstairs as well as attending me in the dining room?’

‘Oh.’ She sounded quite as stupid as she felt, and the heat rushing to her cheeks didn’t help. Here she was thinking he had wicked designs, and he was thinking about his staff. Surely the dip in her stomach was not disappointment? ‘Thank you, then, my lord.’

He rose and held out his arm.

Wordless for once, she rested her fingers on his sleeve. Lightly. The knowledge of muscle and bone beneath the fine cloth of his coat scorched the tips of her fingers. Fires sparked in her blood. Breathing seemed out of the question with her heart hammering so hard against her ribs. Inside, far below her skin, her body shook, fear battling with joy.

She tried not to feel his heat or notice the faint scent of brandy and lemon-oil soap teasing her senses. Five years ago, walking into dinner with a man like Ralston would have been the pinnacle of her hopes. A foolish young girl’s dream, long dead. Until this man crossed her path with his fallen-angel looks and aura of sorrow.

How would she ever keep her distance?

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