Page 54 of The Governess and the Rogue

Good lord. Did he have to look so horrified by the prospect of her being his real fiancée instead of his false one?

“Obviously you don’t,” she said tersely. “As I’m well aware. I was merely attempting to make a point. You needn’t gawp at me in horror as though you’d just seen a ghost.”

Jack’s stark gaze found hers. She realized then, much to her astonishment, that he hadn’t been looking at her at all. Rather, he’d been staring at something over her shoulder. “Not a ghost,” he said. “My oldest brother.”

* * *

Jack swallowed hard as his eyes once again found James on the opposite end of the dock. It was undoubtedly him. There was no mistaking that towering height, that golden Beresford hair, and that glacial expression, unthawed by the passage of time.

It had been more than three years since Jack’s last visit home, but James looked no different now than he had then. Clad in an impeccably cut black three-piece suit, he stood beside his wife, Hannah. She was an undisputed beauty, with a mass of upswept dark auburn hair and a face distinguished by the gentleness of its expression.

Bloody blasted hell.

“How the devil did they know—” Jack began.

But in that exact moment James’s icy gaze found his.

Jack’s stomach sank. There would be no extricating himself now. He forced himself to smile at his brother.

James returned the wordless greeting with a slight smile of his own.

“Your oldest brother?” Bea repeated in dismay. “The Viscount St. Clare?”

“That’s the one,” Jack said.

“Shall I away?” she asked. “I can go straight to the hotel or⁠—”

“It’s too late for that,” Jack said.

James was already making his way toward them, with Hannah on his arm. The crowd seemed to part for him, as though in tacit acknowledgment of the authority he wielded, both as heir to the earldom and as a gentleman to be reckoned with in his own right.

“The hero returns,” James said as he and his wife approached. They came to a halt in front of Jack and Bea. “And with a cane, no less.”

“A temporary necessity after my surgery,” Jack replied.

James looked Jack over with a rare show of brotherly concern. “It was a success?”

“So, I’m told,” Jack said. “How did you know⁠—”

“That you’d be arriving today?” Hannah embraced Jack. “We received a wire yesterday informing us of your travel plans—and of your engagement.” Withdrawing from him, she turned to Bea with a warm smile. “You must be Miss Layton.”

To her credit, Bea didn’t bat an eye. Neither did she speak.

Jack maintained his smile through sheer strength of will. “Someone has spoiled my surprise.”

“Then it’s true?” James’s attention settled on Bea.

Bea stood ramrod straight under his regard. Steeling herself, very probably. This was, after all, the moment Jack must disabuse his relations of their misapprehension. He must tell them either that Bea was not in fact his fiancé, or that she had been so during the voyage, but was no longer. Either way, their relationship would shortly be severed. Bea would go to her hotel and Jack would go with his family, and that would be an end to it.

Simple enough.

But when Jack opened his mouth to do so, the words wouldn’t come.

At least, not those words.

“Bea, may I present my brother James, Lord St. Clare, and his wife Hannah, Lady St. Clare,” he heard himself say. “James, Hannah, this is Miss Beatrice Layton, my fiancée.”

Hannah beamed. “Then, it is true.” She extended her gloved hands to Bea. “How pleased I am to meet you, Miss Layton.”