Page 82 of The Governess and the Rogue

Jack and Ivo awaited them in the entry hall, both of them dressed in their evening blacks.

Bea had to remind herself to breathe. A difficult proposition, given the picture Jack presented in his flawlessly cut tailcoat and trousers, with his white waistcoat gleaming. Never had Bea seen him looking so polished and untouchable. She privately wondered if there was a level of handsomeness greater than outrageously handsome. If there was, Jack had certainly achieved it tonight.

When he saw Bea, a slow smile spread across his face. Her blood warmed in answer as he came to take her hand, assisting her down the last step. “Well,” he said. “You’ve finally managed to render me speechless.”

“You’re speaking now,” she pointed out.

Jack grinned. “I’m speechless on the inside.”

“Ladies,” Ivo said. “You’re both visions.” He took Meg’s arm. Drawing her close, he whispered something in her ear.

Meg laughed softly in response.

Hannah and St. Clare appeared in the hall that led from the ballroom. Kate and Charles were with them. The gentlemen were in black-and-white eveningwear and the ladies in lush, large-skirted gowns of rose crepe (for Hannah) and mazarine blue silk (for Kate).

“The first guests are due any minute,” Hannah said. “Shall we form the receiving line?”

“If Jack is ready to greet all his well-wishers,” Ivo said.

Jack dropped a significant glance at his injured leg. “How many well-wishers are we talking about?”

“It’s open house,” St. Clare said. “We may be standing here all night.”

“What my husband means,” Hannah interjected, “is that the moment you’ve had enough, you may retire to the ballroom.”

“Should we wait for Mama and Papa?” Kate asked.

“We’re here!” a woman’s voice called from the top of the stairs.

Bea looked up. For the third time that evening, she felt her courage slip.

Lord and Lady Allendale descended the steps, side-by-side. He was tall and commanding, and very like his three sons, save for the lines that creased his face and the silver that streaked his golden hair. And she was quite similar to her daughter, self-possessed and beautiful, with the same dark blue eyes, and the same lustrous mink tresses—though hers held plentiful strands of gray.

Her ladyship’s attention went straight to her youngest son. Having marked him, her unerring gaze fell on Bea.

Bea’s hand tightened reflexively on Jack’s.

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze in return before releasing it to greet his parents. “Mother, father,” he said.

“Jack.” Lady Allendale embraced him. “We looked for you when we arrived. Mrs. Kirby said you had gone into Maidenbridge.”

Jack bent to return his mother’s embrace. He was substantially taller than she was. “I had an errand to attend to,” he said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to meet you.”

“You’re here now, that’s what’s important.” She kissed him. “I thank God you’re home.”

“I fear I’m a little worse for wear.”

She drew back to look at him. “The operation was a success?”

“According to the surgeon. I’m reserving judgment until I can walk without aid of this.” Jack tapped his cane. “I’m told it will take time.”

“You have time now,” Lord Allendale said, greeting Jack in turn. “An abundance of it.”

“With no more threat of danger,” Lady Allendale added. “Only peace and quiet, and plenty of fresh air.”

Jack’s mouth hitched. “How dull you make the countryside sound.”

“Not for you, it seems.” Lord Allendale turned his ice-gray gaze on Bea. “We’re informed that you have returned with a diversion.”