Page 8 of The Governess and the Rogue

A hint of color rose in Miss Layton’s cheeks, so faint as to be practically indetectable.

Jack’s mutinous blood gave a resurgent simmer in response to it.

And he wondered…

If the barest allusion to a compliment could inspire such a reaction, what result might an outright compliment have?

He was quite tempted to find out.

But no.

Jack had come too far avoiding entanglements to risk one now.

Besides, Miss Layton wasn’t of his class. She didn’t know how to play the game. To flirt or to tease, with no thought for the consequences. To her, all was seriousness. And doubtless it should be for one in her position.

Jack had no intention of abusing his own position for a moment’s amusement at her expense, no matter how great the temptation to see the full range of her blushes.

He cleared his throat. “As to your employer⁠—”

“With any luck, I’ll hear from him sometime tomorrow,” she said.

“What will you do until then?”

“What can I do, other than keep on managing the children?” She paused, adding, “And hoping that the threat of their father will be sufficient to keep them in check.”

“It never worked for me,” Jack said.

She looked at him again, this time with something like curiosity. “Your father was similar to Mr. Dimsdale?”

Jack refrained from replying that his father was similar to no other man in this world. A formidable fellow—fierce, proud, occasionally ruthless. The kind of gentlemen that Jack and his two older brothers had looked on as something like a God when they were children. A loving God, at that. There was nothing Jack’s father wouldn’t do for his family.

“I’ve not yet met Mr. Dimsdale,” Jack said.

“Or anyone else, I presume,” Miss Layton replied. “Since you’re traveling incognito.” Her voice held a hint of reproof.

Jack shrugged. “I observe people.”

“From the shadows?”

“An eye-opening experience. It’s how I first spied you.”

Her gaze narrowed with feminine censure. “I don’t care to be spied upon, sir.”

He looked back at her steadily, registering her ramrod straight spine, her stiff jaw, and the resolute set to her thin shoulders. Any other gentlemen would have offered his apologies and withdrawn. But Jack was too well-acquainted with prickly females to let a few harmless barbs pierce his skin.

“It wasn’t my intention,” he said. “You simply crossed my path when I was taking the air. The first several nights after we left port, I thought it better to leave you alone. It was only last night that I dared approach. You appeared in some distress⁠—”

“Indeed, I was not.”

“And I— Well.” His mouth quirked. “I was desperate for human contact, wasn’t I?”

She gave him a reproving glare. “Ridiculous,” she said. “You’re not unsuitable for company, you know. Not as far as I can see.”

“Thank you.”

“I meant that you needn’t spend your days hiding in your cabin. Your injuries don’t appear terribly offensive.”

He affected an eloquent wince. “Not terribly offensive? Talk about damning with faint praise.”