The Governess Who Captured His Heart (The Honorable Scoundrels Book 1)

by Sophie Barnes

  “Thank you,” Miss Potter said – the first words she’d spoken to him since climbing into the carriage. She made no effort to do as he suggested, but she did, much to his surprise, continue talking. “I am sorry if I seemed defensive earlier. It was not my intention.”

  Drawn by the hushed sound of her voice, Alistair allowed his eyes to meet hers. A mistake, since he found himself thoroughly transfixed by their color. To say they were hazel was far too simple. They were a brilliant shade of green at the center, surrounded by warm tones of toffee. Years of practice allowed him to maintain his serious demeanor and not reveal the physical torment which he was starting to suffer. Only two hours in her presence and his gentlemanly ways were being severely tested. It did not bode well for the remainder of their journey.

  “Then what was your intention, Miss Potter?”

  Her lips parted on the precipice of speech, but then she appeared to force back whatever remark she’d been meaning to make, paused for a second, and finally said, “Beauty can be a blessing as well as a curse. It has always been assumed I would get by on my looks – that men would flock to my door after taking one glimpse and then promptly offer me marriage.”

  “Most women would be glad if they were so fortunate.”

  “Perhaps,” she conceded. “But in my case, circumstance got in the way. I found myself in a situation where a pretty face would not suffice. Fortunately, my mother, bless her heart, always strove to prepare my sisters and me for such a possibility. She was a practical woman. So while our father insisted there was no need for anything more than basic lessons, Mama demanded proficiency in mathematics, science, literature and French. And because our father doted on her, he allowed it, affording us all an education we can now use to our best advantage.”

  He took a moment to consider this forthright statement. “You speak of both parents in the past tense.” Noting the way her eyes shifted, he quietly said, “I take it they are no longer with you?”

  She gave a tight nod. “We lost Mama four years ago. Papa passed last summer.”

  Which explained her dull attire. “I am sorry to hear it.”

  A weak smile was her only response, and then, as if seeking a different topic, she quickly asked, “How is it you are as young as you are? Lady Channing referred to you as her uncle, so I rather assumed you were going to be a bit older.”

  “Yes. You did make that quite clear the moment we met.”

  Blushing, she glanced at him timidly from beneath her lashes. It impacted him in the strangest of ways. “Forgive me. It was terribly rude of me to respond as I did. I’m afraid surprise got the better of me.”

  She wasn’t the only one, he reflected. “The fact is, my father was thirty years old when my brother, the current Duke of Langley, was born. His mother died in childbirth, and our father remarried, to a woman who bore him no children. After her death, our father married his third wife. By then he was in his fifty-seventh year, while his wife, my mother, was a widow twenty-five years his junior. Hence, there are twenty-eight years between my brother and me since I was born a year after the wedding. Indeed I am closer in age to my niece, Lady Channing, who is only three years younger than I.”

  “How strange,” Miss Potter murmured. “I cannot imagine what that might be like. You’re practically an only child.”

  He couldn’t deny it. “The duke has been more of a parent to me than a brother. I was only ten when Papa died.”

  What he would not say was how much the death had affected him. His father had doted on him, perhaps because he’d been the spare he’d been trying to have for two full decades. There was also the possibility his father had tried to avoid the mistakes he felt he’d made when raising his brother. From what Alistair gathered, little love had been given to the current Duke of Langley. Everything had been about duty and discipline. So when Papa died and Langley stepped in and took his place, Alistair’s carefree childhood had come to a grinding halt.

  “I am sorry to hear it,” Miss Potter said, capturing his attention. “No child should have to lose their parent at such a young age.”

  Appreciating the sympathy but disliking the mood their discussion had led to, he nodded, then turned his attention back to the newspaper he’d brought along for the ride. Opening it, he set his mind to finding a new investment opportunity – something that would save him from bending to Langley’s will.

  Hoping she managed to do so discreetly, Louise considered Lord Alistair while he read the crisp newspaper he held. His brow was knit in serious contemplation, his eyes skimming the pages with intense interest. Turning a page with a rustle, he leaned slightly forward as if studying part of the text in greater detail.

  Being a relatively large man, he seemed to fill the carriage with his presence. The space had felt even smaller when he’d been looking at her. Thankfully, he’d stopped doing so now, allowing the fluttery feel in her belly to settle into something much calmer and more relaxed. His dark perusal invariably made her tighten up inside. It bothered her to no end that she couldn’t discern what he was thinking. To do so was impossible when he kept the inner workings of his mind carefully masked behind layers of strict severity. What shocked her most, perhaps, was her reaction to this, for it made her want to shake some emotion out of him. Of course, doing so would likely result in the termination of her employment before it even began.

  As she watched him, a dark lock of hair fell across his brow. It made him appear more carefree somehow, even if his expression did no such thing. Flexing her fingers, she fought the urge to reach out and force the errant hair back into place. To do so would be scandalous – completely and utterly shocking.

  With this in mind, she drew the blanket he’d given her at the onset of their journey tighter across her lap. As concerned as she’d been about travelling with him after their initial meeting, she had begun to warm to the idea of sharing his company.

  For one thing, it was a chance in a lifetime, because being confined to a small space with the best looking man in England was not the sort of thing that was likely to happen ever again. For another, she would not be alone with him. Even if the maid who’d joined them slept the entire way to Whitehaven, her presence ensured propriety would be maintained.

  So why worry? Rather, Louise decided she might as well spend the next few days admiring Lord Alistair’s perfect figure, the breadth of his shoulders, and how perfectly his well-tailored clothes hugged him in all the right places. This was a rare treat she’d been given, and she’d be a fool not to take advantage.

  So she sat back and let her gaze wander up the length of his legs and across his thighs. He turned another page, and she studied the movement, admiring the size of his hands. They were so much larger than hers, though elegant in their own right as they carefully held the newspaper.

  Sliding her gaze upward, she took in the leanness of his chest. Many men would have a belly protruding when sitting down, but he did not. Rather, his jacket sat completely flat against his torso, which rather intrigued her. Continuing up over his chest, she reached his shoulders and then the side of his neck where a few fine tufts of hair curled right beneath his earlobe.

  “You’re staring at me,” he murmured.

  Louise’s heart slammed against her chest and her gaze shot toward his. He was studying her with those dark eyes that revealed nothing of what he was thinking, but they did produce a rush of heat that instantly made her think of flinging herself from the carriage if only to escape her own embarrassment.

  2

  He’d caught her. The thrill of it could not be denied. Nor could the wicked sensations rolling through him as he allowed himself to consider the purpose behind her intense scrutiny. And it had been intense. He’d sensed it long before he’d accused her.

  “I, er…” She fumbled with her words, her eyes darting about, looking everywhere but at him.

  “Yes?” He couldn’t help himself. Her discomfort was far too amusing for him to relent.

  Puffing out a breath, she wave
d her hands as if they might conjure the necessary excuse. Eventually, she surprised him by saying, “Very well, you caught me.”

  Staring at her, he had no choice but to admire her honesty when most women would have denied it to perdition. “Very well?” He was obviously at a loss for words.

  She raised both eyebrows and stared him down, incredible female. “I never had a Season,” she said as if that explained everything.

  Confounded, he folded the newspaper, set it aside on the bench, and gave her his full attention. “How does that factor in?”

  A shrug was her first response. But then she added, “Most of the men I have known have either been family or indistinct. You are neither.”

  He could feel a persistent tug at the corners of his mouth. Surrendering to it, he smiled, aware she was staring once more. “That would make me distinctive, Miss Potter.”

  “Yes, well.” She waved her hand as if trying to brush his comment aside. “There it is.”

  “Hmm.” He wasn’t about to let her get off so easily. “Would you care to elaborate?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Her horrified expression made him smile even more.

  Heaven help him, he was being awful, enjoying himself at her expense. “In what ways do you find me distinctive?” he asked.

  For a long second, she simply sat there looking back at him as if she failed to comprehend the question. She pressed her lips together, and he watched her eyes harden with resolve. When she spoke again, it took every bit of restraint he possessed not to howl with laughter. “In case you’re not aware, you aren’t exactly hideous. In fact, I might even say you are pleasing to look at.”

  “And so, considering my un-hideousness, you found yourself staring.”

  “Of course,” she said, surprising him once again with her frankness. “The realization was so astonishing, I could hardly help myself.”

  He did laugh then, long and hard and with an abandon he hadn’t allowed in years. It made Bridget stir enough for him to choke back the rest of the sound before continuing in a whisper. “Good lord, Miss Potter. I’m beginning to see why my niece chose to hire you. That tongue of yours is certain to set her children straight.”

  “Why thank you, my lord. I will take that as a compliment.” And with that remark, she leaned back in her corner of the carriage and closed her eyes.

  The deep inhalations that followed a few minutes later confirmed she’d fallen asleep. What shocked Alistair most about this realization was the disappointment he felt at having to forego further conversation with her at present. Last night, when Abigail’s letter had arrived informing him that he was to bring Miss Potter with him, he could not have been more displeased. Now, he anticipated her waking up again so they could resume their repartee.

  Which made him wonder if there might be something wrong with him, since he really ought to be grateful for the reprieve she offered by choosing to sleep. It gave him the time he needed to focus on finding a way out from underneath Langley’s boot. It also meant he did not have to make an effort to entertain her as he’d been loath to do before setting out. But with each passing mile, he found himself glancing over at her with increasing frequency. Discovering she was pretty to look at was one thing. Learning she was a capable sparring partner was quite another.

  Enjoying a pleasant dream in which she danced at a glittering ball, Louise did not appreciate being shaken awake. “Go away,” she murmured, trying to retreat from the hand squeezing her shoulder.

  “I’m afraid I cannot do so.”

  The low baritone made her eyes snap open to find Lord Alistair’s face within inches of her own. “What?” Her voice was a squeak. She shifted in her seat, and he finally leaned back, though not without allowing her to inhale his scent. A rich smell of musk and bergamot wafted past her defenses, assaulting her with their delicious aroma. The effect it had on her was one she would rather not consider at the moment, lest she do something highly regrettable, like lean toward him and inhale more deeply.

  Thankfully, she wasn’t given the chance to do so as he moved back to his own seat, snatched up her bonnet, and handed it to her. “We’ve arrived at the first posting inn.” He glanced at Bridget who promptly sneezed. Lord Alistair frowned. “I hope you’re not getting ill.”

  “No, my lord.” Bridget sniffled a little. “I am perfectly well.”

  His frown deepened, but rather than question the maid any further, he said. “Very well then. If you’ll both accompany me inside, someone will show you to your rooms so you can freshen up before supper. You’ll be with the other servants, Bridget, but close enough to Miss Potter to offer assistance, should she need it.”

  The decisive manner in which he spoke was sobering. It reminded Louise that there was a purpose to this journey and that it did not involve her losing her head over a duke’s brother, no matter how sinfully handsome the duke’s brother happened to be. So she gave him a nod, waited for him to exit the carriage, then allowed him to help her down first. She was far too practical to care about the way in which his fingers curled around her hand or the fact that he offered her his arm once she and Bridget were both on the ground. To do so would be silly, daft, and completely senseless. And yet a part of her – that feminine part yearning for romance – could not quite help but bask in the whole experience.

  The basking came to a swift halt, however, when her bag was carried in and Lord Alistair handed her and Bridget over to a servant, who promptly marched them upstairs and down a narrow corridor to their respective bedrooms. Once alone, Louise set down her bonnet, then took a moment to appreciate the crisp linens dressing the bed and the water waiting for her on the washstand. A stack of clean towels sat beside it, drawing her closer. Splashing cool water onto her hands, she washed her face, savoring the soothing effect it had on her skin.

  Crossing to the window, she glanced out, expecting to find a view of the English countryside. Instead, a courtyard where the arriving carriages were being parked filled her vision. Lord Alistair’s landau was there as well, but it wasn’t the carriage that caught her attention so much as the man who appeared to be helping the grooms with the horses. In spite of the cold, Lord Alistair had taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He was unhitching one of the horses. The impatient animal whinnied, tossing its head until Lord Alistair grabbed hold of the reins and led it swiftly away from the carriage and toward the stables. A few minutes passed before he returned. Moving toward the next horse, he reached up and stroked its muzzle, then led it away as well.

  Remaining by the window, Louise puzzled over this curious effort on Lord Alistair’s part. As far as she knew, aristocrats never lowered themselves to doing common chores. And since he did have a coachman, she found his action intriguing. One thing was certain – he was gradually proving to be something more than she’d first thought him capable of being. And as she watched him return to the courtyard with a sure stride and address his coachman, she couldn’t help but appreciate the line he seemed to walk between employer and friend, for although his stance suggested authority, his mannerisms made it clear that was able to enjoy an easy discussion with the driver. Her father had not had this skill, she reflected. He’d always kept the servants at a distance, and whenever he’d addressed them, it had been in a stern and overbearing tone.

  She was still considering this when Lord Alistair suddenly turned and, as if sensing her, looked up. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second before she spun away, removing herself from view. Which was silly, really. Why should she care if he spotted her at the window?

  Because he knows you were looking at him.

  Just as she’d done in the carriage. She lowered her face to the palms of her hands. Lord help her, she had to stop letting this man whom she scarcely knew fill up her head. Nothing good could possibly come of it.

  When Miss Potter arrived in the private dining room he’d secured for them, Alistair did his best to aim for casual politeness. Which was no easy task after catching her by the window earli
er. She’d been staring at him again – something he would do well to ignore. She was, he reminded himself, going to be in Abigail’s employ. If this alone, coupled with Bridget’s presence, was not enough to deter him from making advances, Miss Potter’s innocence was. And she was an innocent. He knew it as well as he knew his own name, and he would be damned if he was going to take advantage of that.

  Rising to greet her, he paused to reflect on the fact that she was alone. “Will Bridget not be joining us?”

  “I recommended she stay in her room and rest. That sneeze in the carriage was only the first. Looks like she’s caught a serious chill.”

  “That doesn’t bode well.” He moved to pull out her chair, but as she stepped in front of him, he drew a breath and instantly froze in response to the sweet aroma of jasmine clinging to her hair or her skin or wherever it was that it clung. It was like elixir to his senses, suffusing him with a sudden desire to press his nose against her and inhale more deeply. And with that notion, he felt himself stir with sudden arousal. It was worse than it had been in the carriage, forcing him to clamp his jaw shut and grip the chair while he waited for her to lower herself to the seat.

  Pausing, he wondered how best to return to his own chair without drawing attention to the inconvenient reaction he was having to her. “Are those sheep?” he asked, pointing toward the window.

  She turned to look, allowing him the chance he needed to circumvent the table and sit down across from her. “It’s a bit dark to tell, but yes,” she said. “I believe they are.”

  Nodding, he breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought so.” He lowered his gaze to the piece of paper comprising the menu. “Are you hungry?”

  “For sheep?”

  When he glanced back up, her eyes were sparkling with mischief. She was teasing him, and he found he rather liked it. “I’m sure we can have one of them brought in on a platter,” he offered in an equally nonchalant tone.