The Mysterious Governess (Daughters of Sin 3)

Embarrassment swamped Lissa. “You think I was...too forward? Please don’t assume the accident of my birth makes me that kind of woman.”

The misery of her dreadful origins threatened to swamp her. Her shoulders heaved and she didn’t resist when he wrapped his arms about her once more and gently kissed the top of her head.

“You are the most virtuous, delectable armful I’ve ever had the good fortune to meet. The accident of your birth means nothing.” His voice was a soft, cathartic murmur. “You are my angel, Miss Hazlett. I recognized it fro

m the moment I laid eyes on you, but it’s only now that I realize the danger you place me in.”

A note of amusement crept into his voice at her predictable gasp, and he went on, “A danger that has nothing to do with my unsavory employer and everything to do with the fact that such close proximity to you makes me a danger—for I want you, Miss Hazlett.” Sparks of light radiated from the depths of his gaze. “I want you with every particle of my being—oh yes, for my own selfish reasons, but also to keep you safe and protected.”

Reluctantly he dropped his hands. “And I cannot do that when I cannot trust myself not to kiss you with a passion that would be dangerous for both of us. There’s only one thing for it.” His tone became brisk and businesslike. “I must go away to think, Miss Partington.”

“Think?”

“Of how to expedite this bold and cunning plan I’ve only just now put into motion. I’m not rich enough to offer you marriage at this moment and anything else is quite out of the question. This morning I’d thought to rob a coach—not a thought I entertained for long,” he quickly reassured her, “for that would be as counter to achieving the respectable, happy and long-lasting union I desire as succumbing to what I really feel here.” He touched his hand to his heart and Lissa blushed at the allusion.

“You see, when I saw Jem, I came up with a plan to safeguard certain individuals from harm. In fact, it was more the beginning of a plan, depending on how other events transpired.” He sighed. “Now I realize I must exercise my mental faculties more than I ever have and perhaps tinker with events. For so long I’ve been a lowly secretary, so there’s not been much of a requirement to use this.” He tapped his head. “But my unbiased mama tells me I’m the cleverest man she knows, and I’d like you to think it someday, too.”

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he leaned close and kissed her chastely on the lips, stepping back and shaking his head when Lissa moved forward.

“Not yet, Miss Partington, but I promise you, our time will come.”

***

Araminta felt her time had come.

The evening she had planned at Vauxhall Gardens was going to cement what she had worked toward for so long: the perfect marriage.

She’d told herself she could have any man she wanted and, during her first season, that had probably been true.

Then there’d been the disastrous incident with that stupid young man blowing his brains out. She’d only agreed to marry him after too many champagnes had led to a quick fumble in a carriage; but she’d not been found out, as she’d feared at the time, and there’d been no witnesses—and no consequences—so she wasn’t going to marry any gentleman she didn’t want to, unless she really had to.

Of course, she’d been very sorry that her disappointed suitor had been so addle-pated as to have used a loaded pistol. She fully agreed with everyone who wanted to talk about it with her that it was a tragedy and so thoughtless of him to have made such a mess for his poor mama to find, but that wasn’t Araminta’s fault. The trouble was, more and more she was gaining the impression that others in society felt it was. At least to the extent that the more glittering prizes tended to shy away from her when it came to forging a more long-lasting union.

Then she’d met Lord Debenham, who was clearly mad for her; and she did find him intriguing, with that edge of danger that did something to her insides. Yes, the letter Jem had shown her was troubling. Lord Debenham had been painted a villain by his very own cousin, Sir Aubrey’s wife, while Sir Aubrey was, apparently, the wrongly maligned society gentleman.

However, Lord Debenham was only in danger if that letter were discovered. Araminta’s meeting with His Lordship immediately after she’d left the tavern had made it clear how far he was willing to go to ensure that the letter was never made public. Araminta might even have agreed to be his wife that very moment if he’d asked her.

But then, when Hetty had dragged her into the drawing room just after she’d returned from her secret meeting with Lord Debenham in the hackney, there was Sir Aubrey pacing up and down. And after he’d kissed her knuckles and said such sweet things to her after telling her how important it was to give him the letter, Araminta’s heart had fluttered all over the place.

So, really, Araminta had her choice of two suitors—Lord Debenham and Sir Aubrey.

Now Araminta had chosen. Sir Aubrey might be a mere baronet but only a sickly, childless cousin stood in the way of an earldom and, equally important, Sir Aubrey would make a far more manageable husband than Lord Debenham.

Although Hetty would be disappointed, and might even blame Araminta for acting improperly, she must know that a union between herself and Sir Aubrey was impossible.

Sir Aubrey’s smeared reputation had apparently made him persona non grata in the higher echelons of government and society, so he needed a wife like Araminta whose beauty, charm and grace would assist in him being embraced by society.

All she had to do was give him the letter.

Tonight, dressed just like Hetty—as a Spanish dancing girl for the masquerade at Vauxhall—Araminta intended that by the end of the night, the elder Miss Partington was going to be all but Sir Aubrey’s wife.

If he didn’t make Araminta a formal offer, she had a plan that would give him no choice.

Chapter Eight

Lissa’s relief was short-lived. News had come to her that Jem had been discovered alive but that he’d been knocked about badly, and now lay at death’s door.

When she had a moment to spare, she scribbled a note, which she entrusted to the boot boy, waited a few moments before she snatched her cloak, then hurried the two blocks to where her half-sisters lived. Araminta was not smiling when she greeted her beneath the apple tree.