“It’s the dead of winter. It rains all the time. You would have caught an inflammation of the lung.”
“But you were here.” She drew a very deep breath and plunged forward. “Will you let me meet Edmund? If we suit, will you let me remain here as his nanny?” “I had no clue of your existence yesterday, and now here you are, sitting in my library, offering yourself up as a nanny. It is unexpected, Madame.” “I know, and I’m sorry for it. I had no choice. I didn’t want to become Monsieur Dumornay’s mistress. That was my only other option.” “Who is this Dumornay?”
“He was one of my papa’s supposed friends. I’m certain his wife had no idea that he would have gladly set me up in a house and supported me. She is a very nice woman. He is a lecherous idiot.”
“Most men of his stripe are idiots. Now, did you bring a maid?”
She shook her head and looked down at a particularly round and seductive scone. It looked to have raisins in it. It looked delicious. She said, “There was no money to pay for one. I left Margueritte in France.”
“I see.” He had become the formal nobleman. He was looking at the narrow arcs of flame that leapt upward from the smoldering embers in the fireplace. He looked about ready to nap.
If she’d had a rock, she would have thrown it at him. She jumped to her feet, grabbing her cloak. He had no interest in her at all. He didn’t care if she died on the side of the road. He didn’t care if she caught an inflammation of the lung.
She was interrupting his solitude, the bastard. She wanted nothing more than to march out of his damned library, out of his damned castle and never look back. But she couldn’t.
She drew a deep breath, took a hold of herself. “I’m hungry. Surely before you dismiss me I may eat something? Perhaps in the kitchen with this goddess cook of yours?”
“Eat the scone you’ve been eyeing.” He rose slowly to face her. She found herself staring at his snowy white cravat. Evangeline was tall, taller than just about any woman she’d ever met. She been called a maypole by Tommy Barkly when she was twelve years old and he’d been thirteen. As she raised her eyes to the duke’s face, she felt suddenly quite short. It was the strangest feeling. He was giving her this brooding look that she couldn’t begin to decipher.
And he remained silent, merely looking down at her. It was over. She’d failed.
She was angry. He was cold. He wasn’t a gentleman. She drew up, stiffer than the fireplace poker. “Very well, I’m not all that hungry. I don’t want that scone. I’m leaving.”
He said mildly, even as he snagged her arm in one of his big hands, “No, it’s all right. I’ll feed you, although I don’t think you’ll still be all that hungry if you satisfy your gluttony with that scone. Ah, yes, now I understand. It’s meat and substantial vegetables you want. Very well.”
He paused again, then added, “I can’t believe you, a young lady, traveled all the way from France here, with no escort.”
“What would I have used to pay an escort? One of my boots?”
“If I had been the escort, I would have demanded both boots and a chance to put my hands on you.”
He couldn’t believe he’d insulted her like that, but what was said was said. He watched her brown eyes change color, literally change from a rich dark brown to a lighter whiskey color. It was fascinating.
She said, very low, “I’m a widow, your grace, not a trollop.”
“Dammit, I know that.” Still, he didn’t apologize, saying instead, “First thing, I will have Mrs. Raleigh, my housekeeper, show you to a room. At the very least, you will meet Edmund in the morning. Do you have any luggage?”
He hadn’t made up his mind. Well, had she been in his boots, she wouldn’t have either. It was his son, his heir, and he loved the boy. He would be very careful whom he allowed near Edmund. “I have one valise. Bassick has it.” Then, because she couldn’t bear it, she said, “I didn’t come to plead for you to assist me. I came to offer myself as a nanny. Honest work, that’s all I’m asking for, your grace. I won’t steal the silver. I’m responsible, I swear it. You’ll not be disappointed in me.”
Her voice was defensive. She didn’t look much like a nanny. At least she didn’t look like his own Mrs. Tucker, who’d spanked him, hugged him against her massive bosom, sung to him, rapped his knuckles when he was rude, and loved him until she’d died ten years before.
He thought about sitting here all evening in solitude, anger smoldering in him, and helplessness, because the bastard who’d killed Robbie Faraday was still loose, doubtless laughing at them because he’d escaped whole-hide. No, even brandy didn’t sound all that appealing now.
He couldn’t very well have dinner served to her in her bedchamber. That wouldn’t be well done of him. There was no hope for it. Actually, he didn’t mind at all.
“I know,” he said finally, not really remembering what she’d said, only that it had been pitiful. He turned back to her. He dashed his fingers through his thick hair, standing it on end. “Damnation.”
“Goodness. I didn’t realize what I was about to say would upset you so much, your grace.”
There was wit in her, when she wasn’t terrified that he would kick her out. No, that wasn’t precisely true. She’d used that tongue of hers to try to outdo him from the moment he’d stomped into his library. He said, “The proprieties, Madame. My mother is in London. There is no one here to be your chaperone, to protect your good name.”
She smiled at that. “Oh, that’s not important. I’m a widow, your grace, not some young girl, pure and innocent of mind and person, with hopes of finding a rich husband. I’m also a relative, of sorts. No one would believe you would have your wicked way with me, surely.”
“You must be remarkably ignorant of my reputation, Madame.”
“Oh, no, I know many wicked stories about you. Again, I’m a widow, a mature woman, a woman who surely couldn’t be of any interest to anyone, a woman beyond the need for such observances.”
“Not only are you appallingly ignorant, you are also obtuse.”