He ought to wait until January before fighting the next.
A treasure hunt appealed to his imagination. It was a gamble, of course. But it was preferable to being arrested for killing a nobleman in a duel.
Chapter 10
James was playing cards with his neighbor, Captain Alan Wendover, when Carstairs brought a letter into the library on a silver salver. “This arrived early today for you, Your Grace. I believe you might have overlooked it.”
James had forgotten the letter, in fact, in favor of spending the afternoon researching the history of Fenwick and Tudor days in general. He knew right away from the handwriting on the letter that Elora had written him. And so, with his intuition for females, did Wendover.
“Let me guess,” Wendover said, putting down his hand of cards on the table. “She’s changed her mind and has a sudden hankering for me. Shall I go to London for our rendezvous?”
James broke the seal, snorting in derision. “If you can make it there with two broken ankles.” He started to read, then lowered the letter, releasing a sigh.
“Bad news?” Wendover said, instantly contrite.
“My arm, that’s all.” He loathed admitting how the pain could suck the breath from his body. “Listen to this.”
Darling,
I trust you don’t mind that I shall arrive several days later than I promised. I forgot that the Earl of Axbridge invited me to his birthday ball. I haven’t forgotten your warning that you are not ready for a wife, but as we have not signed our formal commitment, I assume you understand that I still need a husband.
I know what you need, James.
Yours wickedly,
Elora
“Several days?” Wendover said, laughing. “How will you manage? Does the governess arrive before then?”
James felt the tightness in his arm descend to his ribs. “That’s none of your affair, you rude bastard.”
“Ah.” Wendover brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, turning his head to the window.
“‘Ah,’ yourself,” James said testily. “Is it foolish to hope that in several days my brother’s wife will experience a change of heart, realize she is a faithless doxy, and return to her children?”
“Do you trust a faithless doxy to raise Mary and Walker?”
“Definitely not. They’ve only come to trust me in the last day or so. However, I have the feeling they’re aware of every step I take in this house. It’s unsettling to think that my sister-in-law’s adulterous lover has influenced their upbringing.”
Wendover raised his brandy glass. “Cassandra isn’t exactly what one would call demure.”
“She used to be,” James said, frowning. “She was always sweet and quiet at our family gatherings. I wonder what happened to her. And now I’m in a devil of a bind. I invited Elora here for fun and games. Not the sort that children play. This is a bachelor’s nightmare.”
“You should have stayed in London.”
“Even then I couldn’t have let the children run wild on the estate.”
“But you’ll have the governess soon.”
James took a deep breath to control his temper. “Would you kindly not refer to her as a possession I have acquired?”
“Be on guard, James.”
“Against a lady who has been forced into a humiliating situation?”
“Against yourself. You haven’t been the same since the day of that interview.”
“I haven’t been myself since the children arrived.”
“As you say.”
* * *
It was Ivy’s last morning at Fenwick Manor. Rue brought her a breakfast in bed of tea and a slice of plum cake. Whatever had troubled Rue in London seemed to be wearing off. Perhaps she had merely been upset about losing the necklace.
“Are the others up?” Ivy asked, unbraiding her hair.
“Not yet. I wanted you to know before I tell Lilac and Rosemary that I’ve applied for a position.”
Ivy set aside her tray. She was too nervous to eat and afraid of being late. “As a governess?”
“As a companion to an older lady. I saw the notice in the newspaper the day yours appeared. It sounds like a peaceful position. She has a town house in London and a home not far from here.”
“It sounds safe,” Ivy said without thinking. “You’re too pretty to work for a gentleman, married or not.”
“What about you?” Rue asked, a hint of her old spirit returning. “Lilac pinned the duke for a devil the moment she met him. Even you didn’t deny how handsome he is.”
“Denying how handsome he is and denying him privileges beyond our agreement are two different matters.”
“Perhaps not to him.”
“You’re not helping my nerves!” Ivy exclaimed, sliding off the bed to dress.
“Ivy, I’m only teasing. What if the duke realizes how well educated and skilled you are?”
Ivy shook her head. “You saw him in person. All it takes is a few minutes in his company to realize the sort of woman he wants need be educated in only one art.”
“Needlepoint?” Rue said, grinning.
“How did you guess? That’s why he’s waiting for his London mistress.”
“So he can point his needle at her?”
“You have it backwards. Now stop this nonsense, or I shall blurt out some inappropriate remark about needlepoint the next time I see him.”
She went to the washstand, and in the next minute, Lilac and Rosemary crowded into the room to dole out useless advice while she dressed. It seemed that Lilac had only fastened Ivy’s last button, giving it a good tug to secure it in case “the duke was tempted,” when the dragon’s knock resounded through the house.
“It’s time,” Ivy said. “Don’t kiss me. I’ll cry and look unstable in front of the children. I’ll visit on my days off. I love you all. Be good. Keep me in your prayers. I daresay I shall need them.”
As she descended the stairs, she had never felt so sorry for herself in her life. The ancient oaks that embraced the manor would surely bow their branches in sympathy when she embarked on her crusade to keep her home. And even if the trees stood oblivious to her plight, she had worked up enough self-pity to populate an entire forest.
A footman in black and red-braided livery confiscated her small trunk. Another assisted her into the waiting carriage.
And the duke took her hand to draw her down gently into her seat.
“I did not expect that you would collect me personally,” she said, which was all she could manage to say. She could not do more than stare at the man and hope that she would grow to take his breathtaking maleness for granted.
“I had business in the village.” Humor glinted in his eyes as he appraised her tightly buttoned dress.
“The children are anxious to meet you,” he added. “I warned them not to overwhelm you all at once.”
Overwhelm was the exact word for how he affected her. What had she gotten into? How could she live with him in his house when sitting with him in his carriage challenged her composure? She had not learned anything on how to deal with scoundrels in the years since they had first met.
He leaned forward, his dark eyes hypnotic. “I should apologize for kissing you on the floor the other day.”
“Yes, you should.”
“But I’m not going to.”
Ivy braced herself against the squabs. “Whyever not?”
“Because I’ve wondered about you for years. I convinced myself that another man had married you. Now that you’re a governess in my house, I’ll have to convince myself you are still unattainable.”
“I certainly hope to be.” She raised her chin and gave him a frank look. “Am I going to be safe in your house?”
“I think so.”
That was not exactly the reassurance she had sought. In fact, it wasn�
�t comforting at all. “What do you mean ‘you think so’? Either I shall be or not.”
“You won’t have to worry about losing the manor.”
Her eyes widened at this evasive tactic. “What does that mean?”
“Carstairs has taken care of paying the interest to your moneylender and the wages owed to your servants.”
She couldn’t believe this turn of events. Was the duke merely generous or putting her in his debt? She was too stunned to decide. “Thank you. However, if you expect me to give you certain liberties in return, then I shall have to refuse in advance.”
His dark eyes traveled over her in detailed appraisal. “It’s too late for that. Consider it a selfish decision on my part. As I explained, the children need order, and our family’s reputation will not be enhanced by another scandal. It’s bad enough what their mother did. Let me not be accused of employing a governess who lives in fear of her own shadow.”
Ivy looked down at her lap. She was unwillingly touched by what he’d done. He might have his faults, but he was generous.
In that moment she concluded that he wasn’t a bad man, after all.
In the next, she decided that he was an utterly depraved one whose sensual appetite canceled out whatever virtues he professed. Scoundrel. Rake. Rogue. Man with only one primal goal in mind.
He had continued speaking. “I expect my mistress to arrive at Ellsworth Park next week. She is not my mistress in physical fact yet, if you understand what I’m saying. We have not consummated our arrangement, although we’ve come—”
“I understand,” she said hastily. “And I must admit that I’m disappointed. How is this a moral example for your niece and nephew?” And why had he kissed her and hinted at a romance that might have been when all the time he had been planning an association with another woman?
“You don’t understand. She isn’t my mistress. We are close friends.”
“Who desire to become closer?”
He smiled reluctantly. “Well . . .”
“In the presence of children?”
“The children’s arrival was a complete shock to me,” he said, speaking in such an aggrieved voice that Ivy was tempted to smile.
Poor decadent duke. Imagine having life ruin his naughty scheme. But perhaps she wouldn’t be smiling when the mistress arrived. Protecting her charges from the duke’s behavior was above and beyond the duties Ivy had anticipated.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked suspiciously.
“I wasn’t,” she lied without conviction, looking up at his face.
“Yes, you were. Your lips curled up at the corners. I even detected a little gleam in your eye. That was a smile, albeit a sly one, if ever I’ve seen one.” He lifted his brow, assessing her until she would have confessed to anything to escape his scrutiny. “Please explain what you found so amusing.”
“I’m afraid I can’t remember now.”
He leaned forward and took her chin between his fingers. Had those attractive lines creased his face beneath the mask he wore long ago in London? “Come, come. We share a past. There’s no need for secrecy between us.”
“Your Grace, if you wish to unburden your soul of its secrets, perhaps you should speak privately to the vicar. A carriage is hardly the place for a confessional.”
“But the vicar isn’t as pretty as you.”
“For heaven’s sake.”
“Exactly. He’ll make me repent of my past sins so that I’m worthy of heaven.”
“What is wrong with that?”
“I just told you. I don’t regret the past.”
It wasn’t what they’d done in the past that worried Ivy, either. It was the present she had to contend with.
She wondered if she was about to feel those firm lips against hers again. Against her better judgment, she let her mind wander. Was his clean-shaven cheek cool or warm to the touch? Had he learned to subdue his amorous desires?
“May I ask you something, Lady Ivy?”
She focused her gaze on his cravat. It was infinitely less befuddling than his face. Safer. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“What advice would you give me if you were the vicar?”
Her eyes flew to his. “The first thing I would tell you is to let go of my chin. I assume you have not made a habit of kissing the vicar?”
He smiled. “Did I give you the impression I was about to kiss you?”
Ivy was not about to show the scoundrel that he’d unsettled her. “You asked for advice. If I were a duke of your means, I would find a separate, discreet lodging for my mistress.”
“I might as well admit this, too—I was considering your manor house for such purposes.”
She gasped. So much for remaining composed. The very suggestion. How dare he? “How thoughtful of you. I suppose I should consider it an honor that you wish to gift your paramour with the house that represents more history than either of you could ever appreciate?”
He released her chin and slipped his hand inside his coat. Ivy wondered if this last admission had given him a case of indigestion. “My family’s ancestry also traces back to the mists of time.”
“And it is your mutual love of history that sparked your affair?” she asked innocently.
“If that were true,” he said, smiling as he slid his arm back to his side, “then there is a possibility that you and I could continue where our history began.”
“We couldn’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I wouldn’t.”
“You don’t even know what I was about to ask. I might have been about to propose we collaborate on a literary work regarding the local architecture.”
“Then consult an architect. Or my sister Rosemary. She’s better versed on the history of Fenwick Manor than I am.”
The carriage slowed. The duke’s eyes gleamed. He looked unchastened and full of himself, an attitude that reminded her of her place in their contractual agreement. As if he’d read her thoughts, he said, “We are at Ellsworth Park. Once you begin your duties and I resume mine, we shall not be tempted by each other.”
“The thought never entered my mind.”
He grinned.
She bit her lip. The irreverent man lived in a grand house. She would learn the layout down to the last corridor to avoid him as if she were a courier sneaking across enemy lines. He would soon enough have his mistress to tease and kiss and seduce out of her stockings.
She would overcome her attraction to the duke. It didn’t matter at all that he had been the first man to kiss her and most likely the last. She would disappear to him in a few days as all governesses tended to do in a household.
She would not be swayed by the sensuality infused in her blood centuries ago. She would not weaken as her ancestors had, even though she was now indebted to the duke. Charmed, perhaps. And in trouble—unless she watched her step.
Chapter 11
Four days passed, and to Ivy’s relief the mysterious London mistress failed to arrive. The duke had behaved, although Ivy felt his presence in every corner of the estate. At night she fancied she heard his footsteps outside her room. Once she awoke from a dream with a start, not certain if the door to her dressing closet had opened and closed.
Had the duke entered while she was asleep? One of the children? A servant perhaps? Whoever it was should be punished for invading her privacy. Still, she could hardly complain when her imagination might be the guilty party.
She missed the creaky floorboards and familiar ghosts of Fenwick.
Until she could return home, this would be her sanctuary.
She wasn’t sure what to make of the children. Mary was eleven, dark-haired and quick, burdened with the emotional perception of a seventeen-year-old girl who has not only seen too much of life but has understood its coarser elements. Walker, at seven, was noisy and bold, not
developed enough to elude either his family or life’s foils, although for all intents Mary stood as his primary defender and foe.
Ivy thought them charming, manipulative, and self-indulgent, much like their uncle. She was grateful to have been guardian of her own sisters; learning their peculiarities had prepared her somewhat for her role as governess. If Rosemary and Rue had not chased each other through the gardens at sword point, Ivy might not have understood that an unsupervised girl could be as bloodthirsty as a boy.
Nor did it strike her that a boy weeping into his pillow was a sign of weak character.
The children were late to lessons as usual that morning. She marched impatiently into Walker’s bedchamber. “Mary,” she said to one of the two forms huddled under the covers, “why are you crying?”
Mary pulled down the sheet to reveal her guileless face. “It’s Walker, miss. I’m comforting him. He won’t get up.”
“Walker, what is the matter?”
He rubbed his nose. “I am not crying.”
“Yes, he is,” Mary said. “He’s afraid our father will be killed at war, and our mother will never come back.” She scrambled across the bed, fully dressed. “Papa will kill her lover if she does. He might kill them both.”
Walker howled.
Ivy braced herself. “Walker, I insist you wash your face so that your valet can come in and dress you. That is not my responsibility. No matter what happens, your uncle will take care of you and Mary.”
Mary pulled the covers to the floor. “Until his lover comes.”
“I beg your pardon,” Ivy said, battling a sudden compulsion to carry the children off to Fenwick for safekeeping. “That is not how one should refer to His Grace’s houseguest.” Houseguest being a euphemism for several other choice words she refused to utter. She didn’t particularly want to witness the duke’s depravity herself.
“Do you have a lover?” Mary asked ingenuously.
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