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Brand stripped off his shirt and he splashed cold water on his face.
Why had he hired her sight unseen?
Just because his aunt had said Mrs Chivers’s school produced the best governesses, it didn’t mean he had to take the first one she’d offered. Except he couldn’t spend all his time keeping his son happy, and no one else had applied. He was lucky she had such an impeccable reference, but why someone of her calibre would want to work for him was certainly suspicious.
He dried his face and stared into the glass. The letter from Iris Chivers hadn’t said a word about her being more than passably handsome. He glared at his reflection. Oh, she looked modest enough, in her drab grey pelisse and brown skirts, but with her sapphire eyes and wheat-blonde hair she was far too young and attractive for a man sworn to celibacy.
Hell.
Wister, his ancient valet, barged in. He picked up the shirt and gazed at the stains with raised eyebrows.
‘Plum jam,’ Brand said.
Wister cocked his head and tugged at his thinning forelock with a pointed nod. ‘Ye’ve something …’
Brand put a hand to his head. It came away sticky. He touched it to his tongue. ‘Blancmange.’
No wonder Mrs Drake had looked at him with pursed lips. She must have thought him a veritable pig at the trough. He caught the wet towel tossed by Wister and rubbed at his hair.
‘Master Jonathon still not eating?’ Wister asked.
Brand let go a sigh. ‘No. He misses Maddy, damn her.’ The recollection of the nurse’s betrayal sent a surge of red-hot fury to his brain. Maddy was lucky he hadn’t strangled her on the spot.
He didn’t need another death added to his list of crimes. He pulled on a clean shirt and shrugged into his waistcoat.
‘Miles says she’s pretty,’ Wister said, brushing lint from Brand’s coat.
Brand looked up from the buttons.
‘The governess,’ Wister added.
‘Hmph.’ He’d expected a woman of experience, one with a gimlet eye and a large bosom who would make Jonathon listen. Not that Mrs Drake was lacking in bosom endowment. It wasn’t large, but it swelled above her small waist in a very … He squeezed his eyes shut and willed his body under control. ‘Miles needs to concentrate on his work.’
Wister grinned. ‘He said she seems like a nice lass.’
God, yes. A nice, calm, practical woman. Deliciously soft in all the right places. The kind of female who would be happy in the country teaching a child. The kind of woman he should have married. Would have, if he’d known.
‘He needs a mother,’ Wister added.
Bile rose in Brand’s throat. ‘One more word and you’ll find yourself following Maddy down the road.’
The craggy old Yorkshireman grinned. ‘Temper, temper, lad.’
Somehow Brand stopped himself from throwing his hairbrush at his valet’s head and used it on his hair. ‘She’s a governess. She will occupy Jonathon’s mind until his tutor arrives in two months’ time and then she will leave. In the meantime, perhaps she can teach him some blasted table manners.’ He snatched his coat and resisted Wister’s efforts to help him into it.
‘Cook wants to know if Mrs Drake is to take supper in her room?’ Wister said.
Lord, he should have remembered she’d had a long journey from York and would need feeding. ‘She can dine with me.’
The words were out of his mouth before he thought. To change his mind now would give Wister more grist for his mill, so he merely glowered.
‘Will there be anything else then, my lord?’
‘No, thank you.’
Not unless the valet could find a way to put things back the way they were, make life feel normal again.
Unfortunately Brand had destroyed any hope of that.
A stone-cold silence weighed heavily in the air as Sarah descended the winding stone steps. The thick walls absorbed all sound except for her footsteps and her breathing. Peter, standing outside her charge’s door, had directed her to the Earl’s study on the first floor by way of the tower at the other end of the hallway. There she found a wider set of steps, true, but just as circular.
A gothic arch led off the landing; this must be it. She stepped into a gallery-like corridor. Doorways ran along its length on one side and windows on the other. Second door on the left, Peter had said.
Feeling breathless, as if she’d climbed up those twisting stairs instead of descending, she knocked.
‘Come.’
A quick breath, a smoothing of her hair and she breezed in, the perfectly confident governess. Not too confident, though. Not arrogant or proud; competent.
A fire blazed cheerfully at one end of the comfortable and very male room. The upholstery on the heavy chairs each side of the hearth showed signs of wear. The linenfold oak wainscoting shone with the quiet pride of antiquity.
Ralston sat at a polished mahogany desk. He’d exchanged his mired clothes for a pristine shirt, a cravat and a navy coat over an ivory waistcoat. With his chiselled jaw freshly shaved and his hair neat he looked every inch a proud nobleman. And darkly handsome, if somewhat jaded by life.
Indeed, his air of world-weariness made him far too attractive for Sarah’s peace of mind. She tried not to see the bleakness in his gaze, or the lines of worry bracketing his mouth, which tempted her to offer help.
‘Please,’ he said. ‘Take a seat.’ He indicated the chair in front of the desk, straight-backed, wooden and businesslike.
She sat. Or rather she perched on its edge and folded her hands in her lap, hoping she gave no sign of her fast-beating heart. To show weakness with this man might well be her undoing.
Leaning back, he regarded her intently, making a long, slow perusal with dark unreadable eyes. Prickles ran across her shoulders. She had the feeling he could see right through her skin to the blood pulsing in her veins. His gaze said he knew her secrets, her desires.
He couldn’t. No one could.
‘You have instructions for me, my lord?’
His gaze dropped to the sheet of paper in front of him. ‘Ah, yes. Your reference from Mrs Chivers is glowing. Your last position was with a family by the name of Blackstone in Gloucestershire, I understand?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘The ages of the children?’
‘Eight, six and five, my lord.’
He looked at the letter and nodded, clearly matching her answers with the information provided by Iris. For a man, he was being far more careful than she’d expected. After all, Iris had said he was desperate.
Worry that he might turn her away shivered down her spine, but somehow she managed to keep her expression politely attentive.
‘You attended Mrs Chivers’s Academy for Young Ladies for several years?’ he continued.
‘Yes. I also helped as an assistant teacher during those years.’ To help pay the fees that her relatives had found such a burden. She forced calmness into her voice. ‘I assume you want Lord Jonathon to learn all the usual subjects? Arithmetic, reading, writing?’
He huffed out a breath. ‘Manners, also. His nurse indulged him too much.’
‘A nurse can’t replace the guidance of a mother.’
A bleak expression flashed in his eyes, quickly hidden by cool remoteness. ‘Nor can a governess.’
Her cheeks stung. How awkward—and what ridiculous comments—hers and his. ‘No, my lord.’
He glanced down at the letter. ‘I am not sure you have enough experience.’
Her stomach gave a horrid twist. Dismissed after one hour. How mortifying—and devastating. She clenched her hands in her lap so hard she felt the bite of nails in her palms. A trickle of cold sweat ran down between her shoulderblades. ‘I am as well trained in the social niceties a young gentleman must learn as I am in academic subjects.’
His dark gaze rested on her face. A slight tightening of his mouth hinted at a lack of confidence in her assurances.
Because she was young, or because her thoughtless words belied her mental capacity? If he would just come out and say what was on his mind she might have a chance to argue her case.
She returned his gaze silently.
He sighed. ‘I suppose I don’t have much choice in the matter, since yours was the only application I received.’
A huge sigh of relief gathered in her chest. She kept it contained, along with her smile. He didn’t need to know how much she needed this position.
‘You have one week to prove you are up to snuff.’ His dark glance held a challenge.
Only a week. She winced inwardly, but didn’t dare ask for longer in case he changed his mind altogether. ‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said as meekly as she could manage. She rose to her feet.
‘I have additional instructions, Mrs Drake.’
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?
CHAPTER TWO
HER stiff demeanour reproved him. Perhaps greeting her half-dressed had been a bad idea, but he’d been in the middle of convincing Jonathon to eat.
The real puzzle was why, when she’d walked into his study, had he experienced a rampant surge of desire?
Hair the colour of wheat in late summer and eyes of celestial blue were common enough. Nor was she exceptionally pretty. Her sharp little nose gave her face an inquisitive bent. A you-can’t-hide-anything-from-me face.
Yet all the time she talked he couldn’t stop looking at her full lower lip. A mouth that spouted practical governess things had no right to make a man think of kisses. The tilt of her head when she pronounced her opinion—a very decided opinion for a woman who could not yet have reached her thirtieth birthday—made her oddly fascinating.
