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Absolutely no betraying of her true emotions, or her less-than-superior background.
She must remain calm. Impassive. Even if he was the stormiest, most arrogant duke ever to darken the streets of London.
And even if his gate was an immense, glowering wrought iron affair with the mottomutare vel timere spernoemblazoned on a gleaming brass placard.
He scorned to change or fear.
Perfect. Even his gate was arrogant.
What was she doing here? Could she deceive aduke?Descended from a long line of dukes, no doubt. All of whom scorned to change, and most likely ate country governesses for breakfast.
Beyond his unyielding gate stretched a daunting mountain of glittering marble stairs.
You don’t belong here.
Before she could lose her nerve, a strong gust of wind caught her umbrella and fairly carried her up the steps, depositing her in front of the red-painted door.
It was a desperate gamble. It was also her best hope at the moment.
She closed her umbrella and straightened her spine.
It was time to seize the day. Or the duke, as it were.
He was merely a man. Fortune favored the bold. And no adventure ever began with a bell un-rung.
“Kindly inform our mother that I don’t need a wife,” said Edgar. “I need a governess. The twins chased away another one today.”
“Not another one,” exclaimed his younger sister, India, from her chair by the fireplace. “How many is that now?”
“Four governesses. Two months. One man at the end of his rope.” Edgar scratched a vehement row of crosshatches on the steam engine plans he was drawing, shading the crankshaft to set it apart from the cylinder.
Perhaps somewhere in the intricate linkage system he would find the peace of mind which eluded him.
Fatigue and frustration scratched at his mind like the pen nib scoring the page. Why couldn’t he identify the missing piece to the puzzle? The engine was still so heavy and cumbersome. They’d need three horses to draw the blasted thing.
“Maybe Mama is right,” said India. “A wife would oversee your household, including the hiring of governesses.”
“You know I could orderyouto stay here and mind the twins for a spell.”
“Bollocks,” India replied with a smirk. “I haven’t a motherly bone in my body. And you know I’m preparing for my next archaeological expedition.”
“How could I forget? Since I finance your reckless jaunts around the globe.” Although he loved thinking of his fearless sister giving the male antiquities experts hell, from Cairo to Athens. She’d only returned a week ago from her last expedition.
“I’ll spend some time with the children before I leave again,” India promised. “Are they truly so unruly?”
“Half-wild, really. Arrived on my doorstep without warning two months ago. Wary eyes and shallow breathing. Abandoned by Sophie, raised in poverty in that squalid French seaside village. Why didn’t she tell me about them sooner? I would have acknowledged them in a heartbeat. Given them a better life here in England.”
The frustration of it hit him square in the gut. Why had she kept the twins a secret from him?
Not good enough for husband. Not good enough for father.
“She wasn’t much for family, Sophie, if I remember correctly,” said India.
“She didn’t like anything hemming her in. Lovers. Children. Walls.” He’d been infatuated with the worldly poetess, ten years his senior, with the epic, unheeding love of callow youth.
She’d crushed his heart and left him with nothing but a deep-seated belief that love was a twisted, damning emotion that gave another person far too much power.
Never again.
