The Governess and the Earl. Ann LethbridgeЧитать онлайн книгу.
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 heed me in this. I have no wish to comb the countryside for a woman without the sense of even a peahen.’
She glared at him.
‘Nor,’ he continued, ‘will I endanger the men of my estate in undertaking a search.’
Eyes wide, she absorbed this statement. ‘As you wish.’
Was this the sort of difference of opinion she’d had with her previous employer? If so, the Blackstones had missed the fact that Mrs Drake hated to inconvenience others. A necessary attribute in a governess, he assumed.
‘I presume there is a village nearby?’ she asked.
‘Hutton-Le-Hole. It boasts an inn and a haberdasher.’
‘And a hostelry with a carriage for hire? In case I should need to visit York?’
It was wrong to expect a young woman to live in complete isolation. Maria had hated it. But the thought of Mrs Drake coming and going at will clenched his gut.
‘If needed, you may request use of my carriage.’ A way to keep her under his eye.
Trenton removed the covers, then returned with dessert.
‘I hope you don’t mind if we have what I call a country dinner, Mrs Drake?’ Brand asked. ‘I don’t find the need for several courses.’
‘I have eaten my fill,’ she said, her plate clean, her expression contented. Her look was of the sated kind, and very sensual.
He’d like to see her expression after lovemaking if she looked this tempting after a good meal. His body hardened as his mind’s eye filled with luscious images of pale limbs and long blonde hair.
He gritted his teeth. What he had intended as pleasant conversation with an intelligent woman, and perhaps the seduction of information, was turning into a test of his control. And she had told him very little. He’d allowed her to sidestep his questions for the enjoyment of watching her eat.
‘You will try dessert or risk disappointing Cook,’ he said.
‘I shouldn’t,’ she said.
He helped her to some blancmange. ‘Why on earth not?’ He poured himself another glass of wine.
‘Will you not join me?’ She delicately swallowed a spoonful of the sweet pudding.
‘I helped Jonathon eat his earlier,’ he admitted, dragging his gaze from her throat to her watchful face. ‘He likes it with plum jam, and got more on me than he did in his mouth.’
An odd expression crossed her face. Surprise? More disapproval?
‘You think it wrong for a father to feed his child?’
‘I admire your devotion.’
Her demeanour, her uncomfortable expression, said otherwise. ‘He hasn’t been eating well since his nurse left.’ Hell. Why explain? He answered to no one.
She put her spoon down in her empty bowl. ‘Might it have been wise to keep her until he was comfortable with a replacement?’
The dry fear rising to choke him had his fingers clenching around his glass. ‘Not at all.’ The words rasped in his throat.
‘I see.’
She saw only what rumour had painted on his canvass. Let her believe what she liked. He took a deep draught of his wine and set down his glass. ‘If you are finished, we will adjourn to the drawing room.’
A crease formed between her brows. An urge to soothe it away had him reeling.
‘I thank you for dinner,’ she said, ‘but I fear I am tired from the journey. And besides …’
What new blade would her tongue wield? Fascinated, he waited.
Her gaze slid to a point over his shoulder, then came back to rest on his face. ‘In future I will either take my meals in the schoolroom, with Lord Jonathon, or in my chamber.’
A slow burn rose up his neck. A set-down, by God. ‘Then I will bid you goodnight.’
She rose and headed for the door. He leaned his head against the chair-back and watched the sway of her skirts. Sensual, enticing—and out of bounds.
He swallowed a groan of frustration.
At the door, she turned. ‘I notice a footman stands in the corridor outside Jonathon’s room. Does he stay there all night?’
The hair on the back of his neck rose. ‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
He straightened.