Sarah Mallory - More Than a Governess

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Stern and unyielding, Major Damon Collingham was prepared to pay a king’s ransom for someone who could stay the course as governess to his two motherless children.In her straitened circumstances, Miss Juliana Wrenn needed this post and could not allow herself to be intimidated by him–or his colorful reputation. A devil on the battlefield and in the bedroom. Juliana knew what was said about her employer.She would not fall under his spell. But then those harsh features could sometimes soften to something so much more attractive. . .

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“She might be quite pretty, if she were dressed up.”

Damon thought of the little governess in her dull clothes with her soft brown hair braided so modestly around her head.

He sipped his wine, imagining the girl in an evening gown. Silk, he thought. It would cling to her slender body. And emerald-green, to match her eyes, eyes that could suddenly gleam with mischief. He gave himself a little mental shake.

“No, I’ve no interest there. It has never been my way to tamper with innocents, or raise false hopes.”

More Than a Governess

Harlequin ®Historical #233—April 2008

MILLS & BOON

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SARAH MALLORY

was born in the West Country and now lives in an old farmhouse on the edge of the Pennines with her husband and family. Born in Bristol, Sarah left grammar school at sixteen to work in companies as varied as stockbrokers, marine engineers, insurance brokers, biscuit manufacturers and even a quarrying company. Her first book was published shortly after the birth of her daughter. She has published more than a dozen books under the pen name of Melinda Hammond, winning the Reviewers’ Choice Award in 2005 from Singletitles.com for Dance for a Diamond, and the Historical Novel Society’s Editors’ Choice in November 2006 for Gentlemen in Question.

More Than a Governess

SARAH MALLORY

TORONTO NEW YORK LONDON AMSTERDAM PARIS SYDNEY HAMBURG STOCKHOLM - фото 1

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

Available from Harlequin ®Historical and SARAH MALLORY

More Than a Governess #233

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Sent by a king to assassinate the gorgeous Nicolai, she finds herself torn between royal duty and ardent desire.…

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#894 THE WANTON BRIDE—Mary Brendan

With disgrace just a breath away, Emily ached for Mark’s strong arms to comfort her. Yet she held a secret—one that would surely prevent any gentleman from considering her as a suitable bride….

Can Mary Brendan’s hero’s passion overcome Emily’s fears?

#234 THE KNIGHT’S VOW—Catherine March

Believing she will never marry, Lady Beatrice has made a dramatic decision—she will take up a convent life. But first she must ask a favor of one of her father’s most handsome knights….

Catherine March beautifully evokes medieval England in this tale of love and temptation.

To Terry,

my rock and inspiration

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter One

Juliana Wrenn thought she had rarely entered a more uninviting chamber than cousin Pettigrew’s drawing room in Bouverie Street. Unpolished panelling, dark hangings and dull green paint on the ceiling seemed to swallow up the sunlight that was valiantly fighting its way through the dirty windows. She felt a little hand gripping her fingers and looked down, summoning up a smile.

‘Are you cold, Amy? I am sure Cousin Pettigrew will not keep us waiting much longer.’

Her little sister hugged her rag doll closer.

‘I want to go home!’ she whimpered.

Juliana sat down on a worn sofa and pulled the little girl on to her lap.

‘You know we can’t do that, love. We must see if Cousin Alfred can help us.’ She smiled up at her younger brother, a stout twelve-year-old who was hovering beside them.

‘Come and sit down, Tom.’

‘I would rather go back to the kitchen,’ said Thomas, thinking of the fruitcake he had left behind when they had been summoned upstairs.

At that moment the door opened, and the three of them jumped to their feet, their eyes fixed on the florid-faced, bewhiskered gentleman who came in.

Juliana gave him her best curtsy.

‘Good afternoon, Cousin. Thank you for seeing us.’

Alfred Pettigrew advanced into the room, stripping off his gloves and dropping them, together with his silver-topped malacca cane, on to a side table.

‘Yes, well, I have just got in—had to carry out the reading of a will in Mount Street. I gather you have been here all morning?’

‘Yes, sir. We asked if we might wait for you and your housekeeper, Mrs Churwell, kindly looked after us.’

‘She gave us cake, and a glass of milk,’ added Amy and was nudged by Thomas, who hissed at her to be quiet. Juliana ignored the interruption.

‘I wrote to you, Cousin.’

‘Aye, you did, and I responded, did I not? Even more, I paid for your father’s funeral, and saw to the settlement of his affairs for you.’

‘Yes, sir, and we are very grateful. But that was three weeks ago, and circumstances have changed.’ She hesitated, for the first time losing some of her self-assurance. ‘The bailiffs called yesterday and removed everything, and Mr Crewe, the landlord, said he had already let the rooms, so we had to leave this morning.’

Mr Pettigrew looked at her.

‘And what am I supposed to do with you?’

‘We were hoping—that is…’ Juliana took a deep breath. ‘We need somewhere to stay. It need only be for a short time, until I can find employment—’

He gave an impatient snort.

‘And what sort of employment could you find, miss, that would allow you to support the three of you?’

She drew herself up, her hands clasped in front of her rather shabby pelisse.

‘Well, Cousin, I was thinking that if you could advance me a small sum, I could find a house for us and earn a living as a tutor. I am very good at French and Italian, and could possibly do a little translation, too…’

‘Out of the question!’ He waved a hand impatiently. ‘Why, I would not see my money again for many a year, if ever.’

Juliana closed her lips firmly, quelling her retort. It was common knowledge that Alfred Pettigrew was a rich man, but it was equally well known that he was not a generous one. She had seen enough of the house to convince her that he was indeed what her father would have called a nip-farthing. She sighed. It was not a charge that could be laid at Papa’s door.

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