Born to Scandal. Diane GastonЧитать онлайн книгу.
pushed away from the window, but, at that same moment, she turned and the expression of anxious anticipation on her face cut straight to his heart.
He could see her eyes were large and wide, even from this distance. Her lips looked as if kissed by roses. Dark auburn hair peeked from her trim bonnet and the blue muslin of her skirt fluttered in the rising winds, showing a glimpse of her slim ankles.
He took in a quick breath.
She gleamed with expectation. Passion. Hope. Fear. She roused him straight from his heart to his loins, something not easily done, certainly not since Eunice soured all women for him.
Was she waiting for someone? A man? Was this to be some forbidden tryst?
Brent bit down on a stab of envy. Once he would have yearned to have such a young lady flouting respectability … to meet him.
He spun away from the window, dropping the brocade curtain again to block out the tempting sight of her.
What foolishness. Having endured a marriage from hell, he well knew how easily passion could lead to misery.
Brent marched back to the library and the piles of paper on his desk. He riffled through his correspondence. With one hand he lifted a letter and re-read the news from Brentmore. Parker, his man of business, was there taking matters well in hand.
The children’s elderly governess had died suddenly. Parker had been there and was able to attend to her affairs. He’d seen to her funeral and burial, but, damnation—how much were two young children supposed to endure?
First their mother’s death … now their governess?
Brent rubbed his face.
His children had suffered too much in their young lives. Perhaps his cousin was right. Perhaps it was time for him to consider marrying again. Eunice had been dead a year and the children needed a mother to watch over their care, to handle matters about governesses and such, to make certain their lives were worry-free.
Brent knew nothing of children. Eunice had taken charge of them and resented his interference. He’d been a virtual stranger to them. His brief visits to the children since Eunice’s death had been almost a formality. The governess always assured him she had the children under excellent control. Who was Brent to question her years of experience? When he’d been a boy, the old marquess had left him in the care of rather harsh tutors and then sent him off to school. He hardly saw the man until he’d returned from his Grand Tour. From what he could tell, other peers were similarly uninvolved in the care of their children.
Brent pressed his fingers against the smooth dark wood of his desk. He always felt sick inside when thinking of his children and how they would suffer for the sins of their parents. Better to go back to the drawing-room window and pine over a passionate young woman awaiting her paramour, than agonise over what he could not change.
There was a knock. Davies, his butler, opened the door a crack. ‘Pardon, your lordship. A Miss Hill to see you. Says she has an appointment.’
His mind went blank. An appointment?
Ah, yes. Sometimes luck actually shone on him. At White’s last night, he’d overheard someone saying he had a governess to fob off on someone. No longer needed her and wanted to settle her elsewhere as soon as possible. Brent told the fellow—who had it been?—to send the woman to him today. He wanted this problem of the children quickly solved, even if he had no clue what to look for in a prospective governess.
‘Send her in.’ Brent put down the letter and sat behind his desk.
‘Miss Hill, m’lord,’ Davies announced.
A soft feminine voice murmured, ‘My lord.’
Brent raised his eyes and every sensation in his body flared.
Standing before him was the passionate young lady he’d spied in the square. She took two steps towards him, close enough for him to catch the faint scent of lavender and to see that her large, wide eyes were startlingly blue and even more vibrant than the blue of her most un-governess-like dress. Fringed with long curling dark lashes, those eyes gazed at him with the same hope and fear he’d witnessed from the window.
Up close she did not disappoint. With skin as smooth and flawless as a Canova statue, she bloomed with youth. Her rose-coloured lips were endearingly moist. Worst of all, her obvious nervousness piqued tender feelings inside him, a much greater danger to him than his body’s baser response.
‘Anna Hill, sir.’ She made a small curtsy.
His gaze seemed unable to break away from how gracefully she moved, the expectant brightness in her eyes, the rise and fall of her chest.
She was no governess. That was apparent with a glance. She was quality, some society daughter all dressed up to impress.
She lifted her chin in a show of bravado and he broke his gaze, lowering it to the papers on his desk.
‘This will not do at all, miss.’ Whatever her game—attempting to compromise him into marriage or some other foolish idea—he was not playing. ‘You may leave.’
She did not move.
He glanced at her again and waved her away with his fingers. ‘I said you may leave.’
Two spots of red tinted her cheeks.
Damnation. He did not want to care about upsetting her.
She lifted herself to a dignified height and walked haughtily to the door. Yes, she was definitely quality.
As she turned the latch and opened the door a crack, he spoke again. ‘Let this be a lesson to you, Miss Hill.’
She whirled around, arching one brow. ‘A lesson, sir?’
Brent rose and impulsively walked towards her, closing the distance in a few long strides. She stood her ground, fixing her eyes on his approaching form. He put his hand on the door, whether to close it or force it open, he did not know. It brought him inches from her.
But she suddenly seemed small and vulnerable.
‘You would not have gained entry, but for the fact that I was expecting a woman applying for the position of governess.’ He deliberately flicked his gaze down to her breast, to intimidate her and teach her how dangerous being alone with a man could be. ‘You are no governess.’
She, however, did not flinch. ‘How would you know, sir, when you are not civil enough to hear my qualifications?’
Qualifications? Ha!
He touched her shoulder, rubbing his finger lightly over the cloth of her pelisse. ‘You do not dress like a governess.’
She pulled her shoulder away. ‘I do not know who you think I am, sir, but I have come to enquire about the position of governess. I concede I do not yet have the wardrobe of a governess.’ Her lovely blue eyes flashed with fleeting pain. ‘My clothes are provided by Lady Charlotte, for whom I act as companion.’
He shook his head in confusion. ‘Lady Charlotte?’
She lowered her gaze. ‘Earl Lawton’s daughter.’
That’s who it was! Brent felt like slapping his forehead. Lord Lawton had set up this interview. Good God. This was the governess.
It was her turn to look confused. ‘Did Lord Lawton not explain my situation?’
Brent had consumed a lot of brandy that night. He did not remember much of what Lawton explained, only that there was a governess when he needed one.
‘You tell me, Miss Hill.’ He pushed the door shut and stepped back a more respectable distance.
She averted her gaze. ‘I have been Lady Charlotte’s companion. Now that she is launched in society, my services are no longer needed.’
He turned sceptical again. ‘Companion, Miss Hill? You look as if you just stepped out of the schoolroom and are in need of a