The Governess and the Earl. Ann Lethbridge

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      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.

      But it was her eyes that drew his gaze over and over again. Intelligent, far-seeing eyes. When untroubled, they deepened to the blue of a calm sea. Disturb the surface and they glittered like sapphires in sunlight.

      She intrigued him. Such interest hadn’t been fired by any woman for years. It was not a good thing. He should give her a month’s wages and let her go. Women had caused nothing but trouble in his life … misery.

      He gave her a sidelong glance as they walked side by side to the dining room. She looked impassive, but her inner disquiet washed up against him like gentle surf on a shallow beach: eddies of unquiet water beneath a calm steady rhythm.

      She hid her nervousness, but not well enough to fool him.

      He made her afraid. And why would he care? As long as she managed Jonathon satisfactorily he had no need to see her at all. Indeed, having sworn off all female company since Maria’s death, why did he now find himself leading this one to his dinner table?

      Because there was more to her than met the eye. He needed to uncover her secrets before entrusting her with his son.

      They entered the dining room, where they found Trenton waiting. As instructed, the butler had set two places opposite each other at one end of the long formal table. The butler had suggested the breakfast room, a smaller, less intimidating space. Coward that he was, Brand had discarded it as too intimate, too cosy. He did not want physical closeness with this woman. He merely wanted his curiosity satisfied.

      His body responded instantly to the thought of another kind of satisfaction this woman.

      He really should have had a tray sent to her room.

      He helped her into her seat. She accomplished the manoeuvre with grace and an ingrained pride one didn’t expect in a governess. He’d always thought them meek little things, all fluttering handkerchiefs and apologies.

      When Brand was seated, Trenton poured them each a glass of wine, set the first course on the table and withdrew.

      Brand raised his glass. ‘To my son’s success.’

      She acknowledged the toast with an inclination of her head. ‘To Jonathon.’ She sipped the wine. The ruby liquid stained her delectable lips, making him want to lick them clean.

      Years of deprivation were taking their toll, he supposed, though he had never been bothered much before. He shifted in his seat, seeking a more comfortable position.

      Her lashes lifted, and he found those blue eyes studying him warily.

      ‘What did you want to ask me, Mrs Drake?’

      Shadows clouded her gaze while she apparently considered the risk. His anticipation was heightened as she inhaled a breath, her high breasts lifting deliciously beneath the drab brown gown. His body tightened.

      ‘I couldn’t help but notice your son is so very fair.’

      ‘While I am as dark as a gipsy.’ A harsh laugh broke free at her clumsy attempt to pry. ‘He has his mother’s looks. A constant reminder, you might say.’

      ‘I am sorry.’

      ‘Don’t be. I’m not.’

      Shock flittered across her face, as he’d intended. She wouldn’t go there again.

      He placed slices of roast beef on her plate, then added some buttered parsnips and aspic.

      He passed her the gravy boat. ‘You didn’t stay with the Blackstones very long, I notice?’

      A slight hesitation stilled her hand, then she poured gravy on her meat. ‘We had a difference of opinion.’ She cut the meat into small pieces. ‘About my responsibilities.’

      He cocked his head on one side. ‘Is it not for the employer to choose?’

      A delicate colour washed her cheekbones. She shifted slightly. ‘Not if the employer is wrong.’

      ‘You have strong opinions on this matter?’

      ‘I do.’

      ‘It does you credit.’ Her quick glance suggested she didn’t believe him, nor did she offer further explanation. No matter. Eventually she would be an open book.

      She popped a small piece of meat in her mouth. A look of enjoyment crossed her face. No meat at Mrs Blackstone’s table? The thought of her being provided with inadequate sustenance brought forth unexpected anger. He kept his expression mild while she chewed and swallowed. He found himself watching the movement of her elegant throat, noticing the pulse-beat in its hollow—a strong beat he could almost hear.

      ‘I hope will find something of interest at Merrivale to occupy your free hours, Mrs Drake. The nearest town is four miles away.’

      ‘I have heard much about the beauty of the moors. I shall enjoy exploring them.’

      ‘If you value your safety, you will stay close to the house.’

      ‘I will consider your advice.’

      ‘I do not say it merely as advice.’

      She bridled. ‘A command?’

      ‘A warning.’

      Blast her, she looked unconvinced. Women like her—independent, free-thinking women—required explanations. ‘Our weather is unpredictable. When storms arise on the moors there is very little shelter. You will СКАЧАТЬ