An Unlikely Governess

by Karen Ranney

  With that, he slid back into the hall and snapped his fingers. Gaston appeared, placed his hands on the handles and wheeled him away.

  A sigh escaped her as she closed the door.

  “Are we in trouble, Miss Sinclair?”

  “I’m very much afraid we are,” she said, and pushed away a feeling of doom.

  Chapter 19

  Devlen realized that he was a fool to return to Castle Crannoch so soon after leaving.

  There were a dozen women he could have called upon in Edinburgh if he’d grown tired of Felicia. Any one of them would have been pleased to see him. Some of them would have urged him to extend his stay until morning. Instead, he’d traveled through the night to have an assignation in the library with a young miss who intrigued him every time he saw her.

  How did she do it?

  With a directness he found curiously erotic. He was not a satyr by any means, but neither was he inexperienced. Beatrice Sinclair made him feel as if he were a hybrid of the two.

  She was a distraction he didn’t need at the moment. She could complicate his life. She had complicated his life already.

  Why, then, was he anticipating dinner like a schoolboy? Why was he taking special care in his appearance? For that matter, why had he made a special trip to his tailors to ensure his newest suit of clothing was completed? Not for his father’s sake, his stepmother’s, or even his own.

  He wanted to dazzle Miss Beatrice Sinclair. He wanted her to be cognizant of the fact other women saw him and admired him. If nothing else, she should be aware it was a great privilege and honor for him to single her out for his attention.

  He had no business seducing a governess, or even dreaming about her. She was better left alone with her books and her quill and that studious little frown between her eyes. He didn’t want to recall the dawning confusion her smile awoke in him.

  He looked down at his hands and thought it was a test of his will that he could still feel her. The scent she wore was either fashioned from lilies or roses or something curiously and simply Miss Beatrice Sinclair.

  His tailor had told him the blue wool of his coat was flattering. He’d only glanced at the man, momentarily discomfited by the look of admiration on the tailor’s face.

  Instantly, he’d thought about Beatrice and wondered if she would think the same.

  He didn’t know the chit. His only encounters with her had been odd ones. Yet during each and every occasion in her company, he’d felt enlivened, and strangely excited. Even when she attempted to defuse his lust and spear him with her intellect.

  No, she certainly wasn’t a bit of fluff, but neither was she someone who should bedevil him in quite this manner. Bed her and be done with it. Go to her room and make love to her all night long. Give her what she invited with those long fluttery lashes and that wise little smile. Wear her out. Wear himself out. That should ease the enchantment, or the momentary loss of his reason.

  The image of doing exactly that gave him a few uncomfortable moments as he adjusted his trousers. Dinner would prove to be an interesting affair, especially if she gave him those sidelong glances of hers. He would be hard-pressed to make it through the meal.

  She was a virgin. He made it a point not to bed virgins. They were too much trouble. The first time was rarely successfully executed, and he didn’t want to be the source of pain to any woman.

  Virgins were for marriage, not for fun. Marriage could wait. He wasn’t overly eager to form an alliance with another family and have it consummated with a show of bloodletting. No, virgins were for later, when one was unavoidable.

  He should have stayed in Edinburgh. He should have devoted himself to matters of work such as the contract to purchase Martin’s company if the man came to some decision.

  If the need for a woman grew too strident to ignore, he’d simply call upon his mistress. Felicia was pouting lately that he hadn’t visited her often enough. Perhaps she’d do better with another protector.

  He’d managed to come full circle in the matter of Beatrice Sinclair. Now, he was reluctant to go down to dinner. Perhaps it would be wiser for him to turn around and go back to Edinburgh with the alacrity he had made the journey from the city.

  Devlen shook his head at his reflection, patted the silk stock in place, adjusted his sleeves once more, and inspected his immaculately polished shoes. He looked the perfect picture of a wealthy man. Thank God the image he portrayed didn’t reveal his confusion and his sudden annoyance.

  He needed to get her out of his system—assuage his curiosity, that’s all. Once he learned a little more about her, she’d just be one more woman. Just one of many.

  An hour before dinner, Beatrice finished dressing and made a decision. She strode down the corridor, knocked on the duke’s door, and waited until she heard Robert’s voice before entering his room.

  Every lantern in the room had a fresh candle now flickering against the darkness. Robert was sitting on the floor in front of the bed on a large circular carpet. Arrayed in front of him were at least a hundred toy soldiers. A sheet from the bed was bunched up on one side and formed a mountain range.

  He studiously ignored her, while she overlooked the fact he was being rude.

  “It’s very unusual for a child of your age to be with adults every night. If you weren’t the duke, you’d be having your dinner with me in the schoolroom. Would you like to do that tonight? A tray, either in the schoolroom or your sitting room?”

  Without looking up, Robert said, “You just don’t want to be around my uncle.”

  “You will not stay seven years old, will you?” She shook her head. “Whenever I think you’re just a boy, you say something very old and very wise.”

  Robert glanced up. “I feel the same way about him. My insides always get knotted up when I go down to dinner. Sometimes, I’d rather say I was sick.”

  “Since you’ve been so honest with me, I’ve no choice but to reciprocate. I doubt he will allow us to avoid the dinner table completely. But you look very tired today. You’ve spent an entire day on your lessons. I don’t want to insist that you come down to dinner when you could fall asleep in your chair.”

  He nodded, a slow smile coming to his face. “I am very, very tired, Miss Sinclair. But very, very hungry.”

  “Very well, Your Grace, if you insist,” she said, sighing dramatically. “I’ll ring for a tray.”

  “Could we, perhaps, have more of Cook’s cinnamon biscuits?”

  “I concur,” she said. She turned and left the room, grateful she wouldn’t have to suffer Rowena’s glowers and Cameron’s intensity for one meal. Not to mention that she was pointedly avoiding Devlen Gordon—or attempting to do so.

  Less than an hour later, they were seated in the sitting room attached to the Duke’s Chamber, at a large circular table that had been placed in the center of the room in front of the fire. The drapes were still open, revealing the night sky, cloudless and deep, the stars flickering like the windows in Kilbridden Village. The evening was the most pleasant time she’d ever spent at Castle Crannoch.

  Their dinner done, she and Robert were attempting to fairly divide up the cinnamon biscuits Cook had sent them.

  “If you eat too much,” Beatrice said, “you won’t be able to sleep.”

  “I can’t sleep very much anyway,” Robert said with some degree of equanimity. He reached for two of the biscuits and slid them onto his plate with no apology. “But if you eat too many, Miss Sinclair, you won’t be able to fit into your dresses.”

  Beatrice folded her arms and rested them on the table, staring at her charge. He grinned and took a bite of the purloined pastry.

  “You aren’t supposed to notice a woman’s attire,” she said, curiously embarrassed by his comment. “At least not at seven years of age.”

  “You’ll find Gordon men are prodigies in the realm of women, Miss Sinclair. We tend to notice females early in my family.”

  She removed her arms from the table and sat back in the chair, not lo
oking in the direction of the doorway. His voice was similar to his father’s, but Devlen’s was lower, almost a purr.

  “Devlen!”

  Robert abandoned his dessert, leaving the table and throwing himself at Devlen with an exuberance only demonstrated by young boys. She turned her head to witness the reunion, smiling at his excitement. Devlen bent down and effortlessly elevated the boy until they were eye to eye.

  “I’ve been gone less than a fortnight. Has Miss Sinclair been mistreating you that much? If I’d known, I’d have returned much sooner.” He glanced at her, but his look wasn’t teasing. Instead, something flickered in his eyes, a look recalling this morning and their almost kiss.

  “We found a schoolroom, Devlen. We cleaned and cleaned, and it’s where I take my lessons now.”

  “Have you? No more sitting room for you, then?”

  Robert shook his head from side to side.

  “I missed you at dinner,” he said, not looking in her direction. The comment was for Robert, and not for her, but she couldn’t help but feel a frisson of pleasure nevertheless.

  “If I’d known you were here, Devlen,” Robert said, “we would have come down to dinner.” He glanced over at her. “Did you know Devlen had returned, Miss Sinclair?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I did.”

  Robert frowned at her. “You should have told me.”

  “And I will do so in the future,” she said, carefully smoothing the napkin on her lap.

  She wished she had the power to read thoughts. The look Robert was giving her right at this particular moment was so inscrutable she’d no clue to what he was thinking.

  “Are you annoyed with me, Robert?”

  He remained silent.

  “Very well, Robert, whenever your cousin returns to Castle Crannoch,” she promised, “I will make sure you know immediately.”

  Robert nodded, evidently satisfied.

  Devlen turned and addressed his remarks to Robert. “Let this be a lesson to you about women, Robert. They twist the truth from time to time. The sin of omission is as great a sin as a lie.”

  “Are you lecturing Robert on virtue, Mr. Gordon?”

  “No, Miss Sinclair, simply on women. As a species, they’re not the most forthcoming of creatures.”

  She stood and faced him. “Have you been wounded by a woman in your past?”

  His eyebrow arched and tugged a corner of his mouth with it. “Not to my knowledge.”

  “No unrequited loves?”

  “Indeed not.”

  “Were you left at the altar?”

  “Since I’ve never proposed to a woman, that would be an impossibility.”

  “Has a woman ever stolen anything from you?”

  “Just my time.”

  “And your good name? Has it ever been besmirched because of a woman?”

  “Isn’t that normally what happens to women, Miss Sinclair?”

  “Then why your antipathy? Before you continue lecturing Robert, perhaps it would be wiser for you to remember that it was not a woman who betrayed Jesus with a kiss.”

  “Let that be another lesson to you, Robert,” he said, his gaze never veering from her face. “Do not trade barbs with an intelligent and beautiful woman. You will lose most of the time. When your mind should be on the next rejoinder, you’ll be thinking how fetching she looks in candlelight. Or in dawn light, for that matter.”

  “And if you would like to know anything about your own species, Robert, then please be advised there are times when men are ruled by their baser instincts and not their higher ones. The mind is to be obeyed, but too often it is the loins that rule a man.”

  “Spoken as a woman not unaware of her capacity to stir the loins,” Devlen said, smiling an altogether wolfish smile.

  Theirs was hardly an appropriate topic of conversation, especially since Robert was looking from one to the other as if he were thoroughly enjoying the sparring.

  She smoothed her hands down her skirt, thinking it would be better to make a hasty retreat from this room as soon as possible. Certainly before Devlen Gordon moved closer to her.

  He looked splendid. He was dressed in blue, so dark it looked almost black. His eyes were crinkled at the corners as if he had spent a great deal of time outdoors or in the act of smiling. His teeth were white and even. His neck. Her thoughts stopped. Why would she suddenly notice a man’s neck? Because even his neck, the part that appeared above his stock, was splendidly made. Everything about him was glorious, from his broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and long legs that were so muscled she could see the hint of their shape below the fabric of his trousers. And it wasn’t entirely fair a man had such an attractive backside.

  That was one subject she and Sally had never discussed, the fact a man could look as attractive from the rear as he did from the front.

  The longer she was in the same room with him, the worse her agitation became. All day long, she had not been able to stop thinking about him. Seeing him here so finely attired, so handsome and utterly charming, was a guarantee she wouldn’t be able to sleep well either.

  Perhaps she and Robert should keep themselves company tonight. She’d play games with the boy through the long hours, anything to avoid experiencing this fevered longing for Devlen Gordon.

  Touch me. The need was so strong she almost said the words. The yearning was there in the clasp of her hands tightly at her waist, in the fact she couldn’t look up at him but stared at the pattern of the carpet under her feet.

  She would have to pass him to leave the room, but coming too close to him was as dangerous as teasing the flames in the fireplace with her petticoat.

  He was tall, large, and commanding. In addition, he smelled as he had before, the scent reminding her of spices and hinting at exotic locales. Never before had she noticed how a man smelled. Not once had she ever wanted to touch someone as desperately as she did now, or have him touch her. Just a fingertip, please, on the edge of her jaw, or tracing the curve of her lips.

  Or, and this could be too much to ask for, then give her a kiss. Just one kiss, and she would be satisfied until the next dream, or the next time she saw him, or the next time she felt lonely.

  A dangerous man, Devlen Gordon.

  “Are you leaving us?”

  “Yes, I must concentrate upon my lesson plan for tomorrow. I must admit,” she added, smiling down at Robert, “that I didn’t expect my pupil to be so advanced in so many ways. It will mean I will have to reassess what I plan to teach him.”

  “Indeed. Will this lesson plan take so much of your time you must leave now?”

  “Are you implying something else, Mr. Gordon?”

  “Every time we meet, you seem anxious to depart. Have I offended you somehow?”

  He knew it wasn’t that.

  “May I join you in the schoolroom tomorrow?”

  “Please don’t,” she said, too quickly for it to be anything but rude. “I prefer you don’t,” she said, amending her statement. “It disrupts the learning process,” she said, and smiled, genuinely relieved to have come up with some plausible explanation.

  “When will I see you again?”

  “Why is it necessary to do so?”

  “Perhaps I’m concerned as to my cousin’s education.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “It wouldn’t be wise.”

  “I don’t like being told what’s wise or not, Miss Sinclair. When you know me better, you’ll realize it’s a challenge. I’m not a man to back down from challenges.”

  “Nor am I a woman to avoid them, Mr. Gordon. But don’t take it as a challenge. Rather a plea.”

  “I can’t.”

  She faced him finally, tilting back her head.

  “I’ve come all this way. What a pity if the journey is wasted.”

  Robert was being too quiet, his interest in this conversation too apparent. If nothing else, she must think of him. She moved past Devlen and out into the hall. Unfortunately, Devlen fol
lowed her.

  “When are you returning to Edinburgh?”

  “I have no plans at the moment. The length of my stay depends on nothing more than my whim.”

  “There are no doubt matters awaiting you in Edinburgh.”

  “But none here? I think you’re wrong, Miss Sinclair. I think there are pressing concerns at Castle Crannoch.”

  “Do you have a mistress?”

  He smiled as if charmed by her rudeness.

  “I do. Felicia is her name. A lovely woman, quite talented in a variety of ways.”

  “Go back to Felicia. She no doubt yearns for your presence.”

  “While you don’t?”

  “I do not, Mr. Gordon.”

  “I think you’re lying, Miss Sinclair. A governess ought to be a paragon of the virtues she thinks to instill in her pupils, don’t you agree? How can you possibly teach Robert to be an honest man if you lie?”

  “I must leave,” she said, hearing the quaver in her own voice and hating it. Not because it revealed her trembling uncertainty, but because every time she was around him her fascination about him grew. He knew it, surely he must.

  “I must leave,” she repeated, and this time he stretched out his hand to touch her as she moved past him. His fingertips grazed her hand at her waist.

  She halted for a moment, and they exchanged another look. Slowly, his fingers dropped from her hand.

  “I’ll not keep you, Miss Sinclair. Sleep well and deeply.”

  The look on his face didn’t quite match the amiability of his words. In fact, he looked as if he wished her a sleepless night, and tormented dreams. She didn’t tell him it was altogether possible he would get his unspoken wish.

  “You look disappointed that your little governess wasn’t at dinner,” Rowena said, standing at the threshold of Cameron’s room.

  She was surprised he’d answered the door or that Gaston was nowhere in sight. Was this a sign of his softening toward her? Cameron wheeled himself to the other side of the room, and Rowena closed the door behind her.

  Could it be he was lonely?