Governess Gone Rogue

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  She stirred and he lifted his gaze from her chest, feeling rather a lout. “Sorry,” he said at once, “but you can’t really blame me for staring, can you? You in a dress is a bit disconcerting, Seton.”

  “I suppose it is,” she admitted and looked down, smoothing the folds of black linsey-woolsey she wore. “Mrs. Richmond loaned it to me. It belongs to the house. I’ll have it laundered and returned when I come back for my books.”

  “Of course,” he murmured politely. “No hurry, I’m sure.”

  Despite this attempt at ordinary civility, he couldn’t resist another look at what to him seemed extraordinary. Sliding his gaze back down, he noted the decided curves of a waist and hips, though whether these were obvious due to the dress or to the corset that was probably beneath it, Jamie couldn’t be sure. Either way, he now understood just why he’d never seen her without that awful, double-breasted jacket. Dress or no, corset or no, trousers would have hugged her shape, molded to those curving hips and long legs in a way a skirt could never do.

  With that thought, heat flickered inside him, a hint of what he’d felt last night when her knuckles had brushed beneath his jaw. The first stirrings of arousal.

  It was a feeling he’d always been glad to suppress on the infrequent occasions during the last three years when it had cropped up, and he’d never found it a particularly difficult thing to do. Without Pat, arousal was unwelcome, wrenching, and always carried with it the vague sense of betrayal. And yet, as he felt it starting inside him now, he wondered what it would be like to give in to it, to loosen the tight leash of his control, to hold a woman in his arms again and allow lust to overtake him, to be just for a few fleeting minutes the wild chap he’d been in his youth—

  “Do you always skulk about on the back stairs in your leisure time?”

  Her question, both amused and bemused, was enough to pull Jamie out of these prurient contemplations. From long practice, he shoved down the desires of his baser nature and returned his attention to the reason he was standing here. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Why? To say good-bye and good luck?” She laughed a little, tugging self-consciously at one of the short, curly locks of her hair, her cheeks going pink. “Or just to stare at the real me?”

  He stiffened, fearing she had realized what he was feeling just now, and it was mortifying to think he was standing here as randy as an adolescent, especially about someone he hadn’t even known was a woman until last night. He shifted his weight, making the floorboards of the landing creak beneath his feet.

  “Yes, well,” he mumbled after a moment, “I’m discovering that nothing makes a man feel more of a fool than failing to recognize a woman when she’s right under his nose. Forgive me if I’m still trying to understand and accept that such a thing happened to me.”

  She swallowed hard. “It was never my intention to make a fool of you, my lord,” she said after a moment.

  “Was any of it true, what you told me?” he demanded. “Your father, your education, tutoring your landlady and the pubkeeper—was any of it true, or was it a string of lies from start to finish?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Answer my question.”

  “If I don’t, what shall you do? Fire me?”

  “You’re in no position to be cheeky, Miss Seton. If that’s really your name.”

  If she noticed the question in that remark, she gave no sign. “Is that why you’ve been waiting for me?” she asked. “To find out how many lies I’ve told you?”

  “Not quite. Well, partly,” he amended as one of her straight black brows curved up in a skeptical arch. He turned, pushed open the green baize door behind him, and held it wide. “I wish to speak with you. Come with me, please.”

  She hesitated as if wanting to refuse, but after a moment, she shrugged and started down the stairs toward him, leaving her suitcase behind. She followed him through the baize door, across the wide empty gallery, and down the corridor that led to the family rooms and guest quarters on the opposite side of the house from the nursery.

  He led her into his own private study, the same room where he’d originally interviewed her, and as he circled his desk to his chair, the view of the park beyond reminded him that it had been a woman, this woman, he’d seen that afternoon a month ago flying kites with his boys.

  Don’t be content to watch them play from your window.

  He turned abruptly and faced her across the desk, gesturing to the chair beside where she stood. “Sit down, answer my questions, and for a change, try to be truthful.”

  “Very well.” She took the offered chair, folded her hands in her lap, and launched into speech. “My father was American, as I said. He was educated at Harvard, he taught there, he taught me as a young girl. I was not sickly—that was a lie, I’m afraid. But the rest was true. My father is the one who educated me.”

  “You didn’t have a governess?”

  “No.” A faint smile curved her lips. “Papa had a poor opinion of governesses. He wanted a true education for me. He wanted me to read books, not just practice walking with them on top of my head. He wanted me to learn mathematics, the sciences, Latin. Governesses don’t teach those things, or if they do, they don’t usually teach them well.”

  “He seems to have had an abnormally high standard of education for women.”

  “For me anyway. I think Papa always secretly wanted a son. He never said he was disappointed that I was a girl, of course, but he never let me think for a moment that my sex was any excuse to be ignorant on any subject. I received as good an education as any preparatory school could provide—a better one, in fact. My knowledge and education, my love of learning, my desire to teach others—all the things that I am, I owe to him.”

  “And would your father’s desire for a son allow him to condone you dressing up as a man and applying for a man’s post?”

  Her smile vanished, she stiffened, and for a moment, he thought she wasn’t going to answer. “No,” she said at last. “He would not condone it. In fact, if he could see me now, I fear he would be very disappointed in me.” She bent her head, looking at her hands clasped in her lap. “For many things,” she added softly.

  His curiosity deepened, but before he could think to satisfy it by asking to what things she might be referring, she looked up.

  “It was wrong, of course, to do what I did, but I needed a job, and you had one available. A man’s job, yes, but one I was fully qualified to do. So, I posed as a man to get it.”

  “You seem a bold, confident bit of goods, Miss Seton. As such, did it never occur to you to apply for the job without resorting to subterfuge? To use your faith in your own abilities and your powers of persuasion to convince me that a woman could be a perfectly good tutor?”

  She shook her head. “You’d never have considered hiring a woman for the post.”

  She was probably right, but nonetheless, he was a bit nettled by her complete certainty on the subject of what he would or would not do. “You didn’t even know me. You couldn’t possibly have known what I would have done.”

  “But I did know. I overheard you say it.”

  “What?” He frowned, taken aback. “When was this?”

  “The newspaper office. I was there when you came in and spoke to Lord Galbraith. He told you the twins had written to Lady Truelove, and you—”

  “There was a woman there, I remember,” he interrupted, his mind conjuring a vague image of a wide-brimmed hat and a dull black coat and skirt. He couldn’t recall a face, but then, he’d been preoccupied with thoughts of the boys at the time and hadn’t paid any attention to the woman sitting in the Gazette offices. He certainly hadn’t recognized her when she’d come in men’s clothes to be interviewed. “That was you?”

  “Yes. I heard you say that a woman couldn’t prepare boys for Harrow. I’m afraid you rather flicked me on the raw with that comment.”

  “And you felt compelled to prove me wrong?”

  “I’d prefer to say that
it seems quite unfair and downright silly to me that a woman be deprived of the chance to apply for a job simply because she is female. And I don’t like hearing that I can’t do something just because I’m a woman. I’m stubborn that way.”

  “So I’m discovering,” he muttered. “And the landlady and the pubkeeper?” he went on, watching her closely. “You asked them to fabricate letters of character for you?”

  She met his gaze without flinching. “They didn’t mind. They thought it rather a lark, if you want to know the truth.”

  “Yes, yes,” he countered in some irritation, “I seem to be the only person in this entire situation without a sense of humor.”

  She pressed her lips together, demonstrating that she was suffering at least a tiny pang of conscience at having made a fool of him. “Having heard your conversation with Galbraith, I knew he intended to insert an ad for the tutoring post on your behalf, and when I saw it appear the next day, I wrote to you as Adam Seton, obtained the character letters from my friends in that name, and requested the interview. My real name is Amanda, by the way,” she added carelessly, “in case you were wondering. And now, I believe you know the whole story.”

  “Not quite. Weren’t you afraid I’d recognize you?”

  “I hoped you wouldn’t.” She paused and licked her lips as if they were dry. “I needed a job, as I said.”

  “And why was your need so great that you felt forced to such lengths? Because your father had died?”

  “Partly. He left almost no money.”

  “With the superior education he’d given you, you could not obtain a teaching position?”

  “Before I came here, I was a governess.” There was a long pause, and then she looked at him, her eyes wide and dark. “But I lost my post.”

  “Because?” he prompted when she paused.

  She shifted in her chair and said nothing, but he was of no mind to respect reticence on this topic.

  “Were you fired?” he asked.

  Curiously, that made her smile a little. “Would you believe me if I said I’m not quite sure?”

  “What sort of answer is that?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t wait for my employer’s official notice of dismissal, although I’m sure if you make inquiries, you will be told that my employment was definitely terminated. You will be told I was impertinent—”

  “You?” He pretended surprise. “I’m shocked. Go on,” he prompted when she didn’t reply.

  “What would be the point? You won’t believe my version of events anyway.”

  “Probably not,” he agreed. “That is one of the difficulties all proven liars must face.”

  She opened her mouth as if to fire off a defensive retort, but then closed it again as if remembering she had no defense. Nonetheless, when she folded her arms, every line of her body made it clear he was not going to learn the details without a bit of spade work.

  “How long were you in this post?” he asked.

  “A little less than two years.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “It took that long for your employer to find you impertinent? I knew that about you in less than a minute.”

  She looked away. “Yes, well,” she mumbled, “this wasn’t the sort of impertinence you’re thinking of.”

  “Indeed? I am becoming more curious by the moment.”

  He waited, and after a moment or two, the silence seemed to make her uncomfortable, for she frowned at him. “I would really prefer not to discuss it.”

  “I daresay. Tell me anyway.”

  Color came into her pale cheeks. “I see no reason why I should.”

  “To keep your job here. Is that a good enough reason?”

  “Keep it?” Understandably startled, she stared, her arms falling to her lap as her bravado slipped a notch. “But I already lost it. You fired me.”

  “My sons have asked me to reconsider.” Leaning back, he steepled his fingers together, and rested his elbows on the arms of his chair. “You have the singular honor, Miss Seton, of being the only person in charge of my sons for whom they have ever expressed the slightest shred of approval.”

  That seemed to please her, for a smile touched her lips. “It’s amazing what a bicarbonate and vinegar volcano can do.”

  “That, and the fact that you can apparently walk on water.”

  She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m told you know how to make water so one can walk on it. My sons were upset that you were not going to be here to teach them that trick. For my part, I’m not sure how you thought you’d ever manage it.”

  “Simple chemistry. Water and corn flour mixed together make a non-Newtonian fluid—”

  “Of course,” he exclaimed, suddenly remembering his own childhood lessons on the subject. “It would pour like a liquid but act like a solid under pressure. Still—” He broke off, considering. “How can you possibly walk on it?”

  She laughed. “You use a lot of corn flour and run very fast.”

  He almost laughed with her, but then he remembered why they were having this conversation, his momentary amusement faded, and he returned to the subject at hand. “However interesting and entertaining your lessons may be, Miss Seton, that is not the basis for my sons’ favorable impression of you. Their approval stems mostly from the very thing that caused me to sack you. The trick you played impressed them. They thought how you fooled everyone into thinking you were a man was a right good joke. To my sons, a joke well played is the pinnacle of accomplishment.”

  “I see.” She tilted her head, studying him across the desk. “Either way, I wouldn’t have thought their preferences would cut any ice with you.”

  “Then you would be wrong.” He straightened in his chair and leaned forward, folding his hands atop his desk. “I am also forced to consider Mrs. Richmond and Samuel, who might very well give notice if you leave. And given the fact that the Commons reconvenes tomorrow, leaving me almost no spare time to find a suitable replacement, I am prepared to reconsider your termination. If,” he added, meeting her gaze across the desk, “you answer my questions fully and without prevarication or evasion.”

  “All right then, if you insist.” She squared her shoulders, meeting his gaze head-on. “Unbeknownst to me, my previous employer, a widower, had an expectation that the governess in his household would perform certain duties in addition to educating his daughters, duties which involved entertaining him, if you understand what I mean.”

  He did, and he felt a bitter distaste. Chivalry demanded he abandon the topic, but he could not afford to do so. She’d already proven herself a liar; it was not so great a leap to imagine her having an eye on the main chance as well, and he needed to be sure that had not been the case. “And you objected to this arrangement?”

  She stuck up her chin, the gold lights in her hazel eyes flashing like sparks, answering his question in no uncertain terms, but when she spoke, her voice held a hint of mockery. “Why do you ask? Now that you know I’m a woman, are you considering me for a similar arrangement?”

  He stiffened. “I don’t shag the help, Miss Seton,” he said bluntly. “I may have been a wild, undisciplined rake in my youth, but I am not that sort of man now, and if you doubt me, there is nothing more for us to discuss. You may retrieve your suitcase and go in search of your next post.”

  Her battle stance relaxed, her mockery faded. “It seems I misunderstood you,” she muttered.

  “Yes,” he agreed mildly. “You did. Though given the circumstances, I suppose I can’t blame you for it.”

  “Then you believe me?”

  He wasn’t ready to go quite that far, not yet, and he shrugged. “Having been obliged on occasion to sit over the port with men who brag about such exploits, I know quite well they happen. So, how did you handle this proposition?”

  “It wasn’t a proposition.” She wriggled a little in her chair. “Not exactly, not at first. There were signs that was the way the wind was blowing, but I refused to let myself see them, for I co
uld not afford to lose my post. I told myself I was imagining things, that his hand brushing my arm as we talked or resting it against the small of my back as I preceded him out of a room were accidental, though my instincts said otherwise. I took pains to avoid giving him any wrong impression, and I discouraged these advances as best I could, hoping to avoid an open confrontation on the topic. But over time, my attempts to ignore the problem and evade him were not enough. One day, he cornered me in a closet and kissed me. I objected, but he did not take kindly to my objection.”

  As she fell silent, Jamie felt a sick twist in his guts, a twist of dread and anger. The gentlemanly thing to do would have been to let this go, but he could not. He was driven to find out just what had happened to her, for reasons he began to fear went beyond his reconsideration of her employment. “So, your impertinence was your refusal to capitulate to him?”

  “No.” She bit her lip, giving him a look of mock apology. “My impertinence was when I dropped him to his knees by using one of mine.”

  Jamie gave a shout of laughter. He couldn’t help it; his relief and surprise were too great to be wholly suppressed. But at once, he gave a cough and worked to find an appropriately grave reply. “I didn’t realize,” he said at last, “that you were so athletic.”

  “Neither did I.” Unexpectedly, she grinned. “Neither did he, I imagine.”

  “No,” he agreed, glad she could smile after what had happened. “You probably gave him the shock of his life.” He tilted his head, studying her thoughtfully. “Is that the reason you applied for a man’s post?” he asked. “You feared what might befall you as a woman in a widower’s house?”

  “Partly,” she admitted. “But I also knew I could do the job. And more than that—” She broke off and leaned forward, a sudden eagerness in her expression, an eagerness to explain that had not been there before. “I wanted this post. After hearing what you and Lord Galbraith were saying, I wanted to tutor your sons. I wanted the challenge.”