by Gayle Callen
She kept waiting for the duke to concentrate on Miss Barome, but his gaze lingered at some point on each of them. Just a momentary look, but when it touched her, she felt it like a physical force. Though she did not mean to— did not want to— she met his gaze for that brief moment, and it was like an electrical current shot between them. She hastily looked down at the wine bottle she was holding and almost dropped it.
Was this becoming a biology lesson that she'd never experienced before?
Stephen had finally eaten enough and wandered toward the surf. He asked her rather than his father if he could remove his shoes, but his father didn't notice. The duke was looking off down the beach, paying what seemed only a small amount of attention to Miss Barome's discussion of the newest Ramsgate residents. Miss Barome was leaning back on her hands, her face to the sun, her freckles practically darkening as Meriel watched.
And Meriel knelt primly, her bonnet still firmly in place, not daring to relax. She kept her attention on Stephen, who chased gulls, splashed through the surf, and collected shells to bring to her. The farther he roamed, the more the duke seemed to watch him.
Did the man not trust her to take care of his son? After all, she had Stephen's care most of the day.
As she was deciding whether to be offended, she saw the duke's gaze take in a lone man who walked down the beach toward them. The stranger moved with purpose, instead of the slow stroll of a sightseer.
Meriel wouldn't have even noticed the man, except that the duke's relaxed pose seemed suddenly…stiff. No longer did he glance at Miss Barome or Meriel herself. The smile on his face became fixed.
He slowly sat up, his forearm resting on one bent knee.
Miss Barome's eyes were closed with the bliss of the sun on her face, so she noticed nothing.
But Meriel looked between the duke, Stephen, and the stranger. The duke's tension had transferred itself to her, and she felt suddenly afraid, as if a dark cloud had moved between her and the sun.
What was wrong with her? There were many people walking the shore.
Softly, she said, "Shall I get your son, Your Grace?"
He shook his head without looking at her. "I'll go."
He rose to his feet smoothly and began to walk toward Stephen. She had an irrational urge to follow him, as if he couldn't protect his own son.
Protect him from what?
The duke reached Stephen before the stranger did and squatted next to the boy. Stephen gestured down at something, but didn't notice that his father was watching the man instead.
Meriel's stomach clenched as the man came ever nearer. The duke put an arm about Stephen's shoulder and turned him to face the sea, as if pointing out the ship that lingered on the horizon.
But he was putting his own body between Stephen and the stranger.
Perspiration broke out on Meriel's face. She clutched her skirts with damp fingers. What was going on?
The stranger was now within yards of them. She came to her knees without realizing it.
And then the man nodded pleasantly at the duke and just kept walking.
The duke rose to his feet, glancing over his shoulder at the stranger, then leaning down to answer something Stephen had said. Meriel sank back on her heels.
As the man reached them, he called out, "Good afternoon, Miss Barome."
The woman shielded her eyes and smiled. "A good afternoon to you, too, Mr. Sherlock." She introduced Meriel to him and said, "I was just mentioning to the duke that Ramsgate now has you for a new grocer."
"How kind of you, miss," he said, bowing and smiling and looking so harmless. "Didn't know the duke was in residence."
"He'll be here indefinitely, Mr. Sherlock. I'm sure you'll see him in town."
When the duke made no move to leave Stephen, the merchant finally left without an introduction.
Miss Barome frowned at the duke and shook her head. "Cecil could have at least come meet the man. But then he never does think of those things. Rather self-absorbed is our Cecil— as I'm sure you'll see, Miss Shelby."
Meriel nodded, but her eyes were for the duke, who didn't seem to pay attention as Mr. Sherlock left them. She could almost make herself believe she'd imagined the whole thing.
But she hadn't. And she deserved to understand what was going through the duke's mind, if she was to spend so much time with his son. She would ask to make an appointment to meet with him. They could discuss Stephen's studies, and she could ask if Stephen could have dinner nightly with his father.
And she could ask why the duke sensed danger on a sunlit beach.
Chapter 4
Richard felt like a fool. Clearly the fears that Cecil had expressed to him had made him overreact to a simple stranger walking down the beach. Thank God that Renee had noticed nothing unusual about his behavior.
But Miss Shelby had. He had felt a connection between them from the moment they'd met, and it had only intensified. She knew damn well that he'd thought Stephen was in danger. He had kept waiting for her to question him, alerting Renee.
But she'd said nothing. Her face had gone pale, as if she'd understood the danger to Stephen.
She couldn't know anything of the sort.
But she'd gotten that impression from him. How was he supposed to convince her otherwise? He certainly could not have her on her guard, or soon she'd begin to suspect him.
He and Renee walked their horses back up the cliff path, following Stephen and Miss Shelby. When they reached the summit, he found himself wanting to put Stephen in the saddle with him, but it would be ungentlemanly of him to ride when Miss Shelby had no mount.
So instead he turned to Renee at the top of the cliff. "Let me see Stephen and Miss Shelby home, and then I'll ride with you to Ramsgate."
"You want to escort me?" she said, laughing with obvious disbelief.
He wanted to groan at his own stupidity. As if Cecil would ever think about such a thing.
And he noticed Miss Shelby's attention on him once again. Damn.
He grinned and patted Renee's horse on the neck as it nosed him. "Ah, Renee, you make a man want to protect you."
She laughed merrily and put him at ease.
"Cecil, just help me to mount. I'm hardly far from home."
She was still laughing and shaking her head when she wheeled her horse away from them. "Remember to come for tea on Sunday, Miss Shelby!"
"I will!" the governess called.
For a moment, Miss Shelby didn't hide herself behind a governess's stern expression. He watched the smile that warmed her face, made her eyes as carefree as a cloudless summer day. She was younger than he imagined; he saw that at once.
And she was so beautiful that it made him ache.
He had to stop this romantic nonsense. He had one mission here, nothing more. And then it was back to his life in Manchester.
He hefted Stephen into the saddle and led the horse down through the tall grass, walking at Miss Shelby's side. They were quiet for several minutes, and he glanced over his shoulder to see that the boy's head was drooping toward his chest, and his eyes blinked heavily.
Meaning only to alert Miss Shelby to Stephen's behavior, he touched her arm.
And she jumped as if he'd sprung from a hiding place to scare her.
He wanted to apologize, but had to resort to Cecil's grin instead.
Her face flushed red. "Yes, Your Grace?"
He nodded toward Stephen, whose head bobbed with the rhythm of the horse.
Her expression softened. "He's had a tiring day. Do you think he'll fall off?"
He wanted to say that he'd watch over Stephen— but then he remembered who he was supposed to be. "Just wanted you to keep an eye on him."
The warmth in her eyes cooled. "Of course, Your Grace."
He hated feeling like a cad— but that was Cecil. And he sensed that it was best to keep Cecil between the governess and him like a barrier.
"Your Grace," she said, "there are several things I'd like to discuss with you about S
tephen. Might I make an appointment to meet with you?"
"Talk with my secretary," he said with forced indifference. "I'm sure there's an hour somewhere in my schedule."
She damn well knew he had the time, and that he was putting her off as if he didn't care about his son.
Not his son— Cecil's.
* * *
The next morning, Stephen and his nurse went to play with his shuttlecock outside, leaving Meriel a free hour for her scheduled meeting with the duke. She went down to his study, but of course he was not there. He was almost fifteen minutes late, and even then he looked surprised to find her waiting for him. There was a frozen moment between them, when she realized that she simply enjoyed looking at him, regardless of his flaws. She was so disappointed with herself.
He stared at her, and his two wolfhounds stood on either side of him, the height of his waist, and stared as well. She didn't get a menacing feeling from the dogs, but they were as large as colts, and therefore intimidating.
"Ah, Miss Shelby," he said.
He started around his desk, then seemed to think better of it and sat in a more comfortable chair near the hearth. The dogs gave him a questioning look.
"Victoria, Albert, lie down."
The dogs merely wagged their long tails, but did not obey him.
Meriel covered her mouth and pretended to cough, or she would have laughed aloud. Until the duke's arrival, the dogs had usually remained at the kennels, and she had never heard anyone speak their names. "You named your dogs after our queen and her husband?"
He shrugged and waved a hand indolently. "The irony appealed to me. And as you can see, they listen to me as well as the queen does."
He repeated the command, pointing to the floor, and both great dogs reluctantly lay down. Then the duke lolled his head back in the chair and looked at her.
She had never before met a man so…casual. His very posture emitted decadence. But then again, her meetings with men had mostly been at formal parties or the opera or museums. Safe ground.
She never felt safe around the duke.
Except yesterday, on the shore. For some strange reason, she had had no doubt that he would have attempted to protect them all— and succeeded.
She was granted a few extra minutes to compose herself when a maid— Beatrice, Meriel thought— brought in a tray with coffee and biscuits. The girl was pretty and blond. Meriel remembered Nurse Weston's comment that the duke hired servants based on attractiveness.
Although Meriel felt certain that Beatrice had passed by just minutes before and seen her in the study, the tray contained only one cup.
The duke didn't notice its absence until after the maid had left, and he was raising his cup to his lips.
He arched a brow. "You did not receive coffee, Miss Shelby?"
She shook her head. "It is of no importance, Your Grace. I came to discuss your son."
She could have sworn his shoulders tensed imperceptibly. Was he worried about something?
She had to stop reading hidden meanings into everything he did.
"Your Grace, I know Lord Ramsgate's mother died at his birth, but little else. What am I permitted to say to him about her?"
"Anything you'd like, Miss Shelby. We were very young when we married, both but nineteen. It was rather freeing to make those kinds of choices for myself."
She frowned. "If you don't mind my asking, then yours was not an arranged marriage, but one of love? Stephen would want to know this, of course," she hastily added.
The duke smiled in such a wicked way that she felt her face heat with a blush.
"I certainly felt myself in love," he said.
But later concluded he wasn't? she wondered.
"Marguerite was a gentle soul who relished the opportunity to have a child," he continued. "I am saddened that Stephen will never know a mother's devotion."
Now he sounded like a man who would never marry again. Blast her curiosity, which could never be appeased.
"Thank you for giving me permission to discuss his mother with him," she said. "He is growing older, and is ready for what life can teach him. He is six years old now, Your Grace. It is time for him to begin to learn his manners around his elders. As a future duke, much will be expected of him."
He cocked his head, an amused smile quirking his lips, and she remembered she was speaking to a man raised to be a duke. She flushed and continued to speak.
"Lord Ramsgate eats his meals with me in the nursery, and it is difficult to hold his attention to his manners. I request that he be allowed to begin eating dinner with you in the evening." He opened his mouth, but she rudely hurried on. "Of course, if you're expecting guests, he would remain in the nursery."
"This is not a problem, Miss Shelby. You might have asked me anytime, without making a special appointment."
"But I couldn't risk Lord Ramsgate overhearing, just in case you turned down my request."
He sipped his coffee. "I see."
She hadn't anticipated his easy acquiescence and felt a bit lost in her rehearsed speech.
"Miss Shelby, of course you understand that you will be joining us."
She tensed. "That's not necessary, Your Grace. I'm certain you and your son will do fine without me."
"But who will guide him in his manners? You certainly can't count on me. I eat as I wish, and no one has ever corrected me, because I'm the duke."
"And you're saying you don't wish that to happen to your son?" She spoke hesitantly, not wanting to offend him.
He cocked his head. "Correct. There are times when one wishes to…blend in more."
She didn't know what to say to that except "I understand, Your Grace. Of course I will accompany Lord Ramsgate to dinner."
The duke petted his dogs and drank his coffee, but he still managed to watch her far more than she felt was appropriate. And every look made her self-conscious and flushed. But she could not possibly berate her employer as if he were a student.
Why did he make her feel so nervous?
"Did you have any questions about your son's studies?" she asked awkwardly.
"No."
That stopped her. She clasped her hands together and nodded.
"He is making good progress, Your Grace, settling into his first routine well."
"He was rather wild the last time I was home."
"He is a very inquisitive, active child," she assured him.
"And it is your job to tame him?"
He was laughing at her now.
Coolly, she said, "No, Your Grace, but I can teach him to guide his enthusiasm. You saw how he behaved on the shore yesterday. He once would have run off without giving us a thought. He is learning to ask permission."
The subject of their picnic on the shore made the duke's smile fade a bit, and she knew it was time to take a chance.
"Your Grace, yesterday I could not help noticing your tension."
"I was not tense, Miss Shelby," he said mildly.
But as if reacting to something in the room, Victoria the wolfhound lifted her head and looked at her master.
Meriel found herself childishly wanting to point out that even the dog noticed.
"Your Grace, when Mr. Sherlock approached us, you were obviously worried."
He set down his coffee and rose to his feet. She wondered if he was trying to intimidate her, for he came closer and stared down at her.
"Miss Shelby, have you ever been a member of a noble household?"
"No, Your Grace."
He seemed about to say something of a serious nature— and then it was as if a light went out behind his eyes, hiding what she wanted to see there. His irreverent grin was back, along with the leering way he looked at her.
"Then you've not perchance made a study of how a nobleman behaves?"
She blushed again, far too easily of late. "No, Your Grace."
"Then you don't really know what I was thinking, do you?"
"No, Your Grace." She lifted her chin, beginning to grow angry becau
se he was mocking her, and she was unable to stand up to him.
"So you understand that I don't need to explain myself to you, my son's governess."
