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Chapter 3
Miss Hermina Fernsby stared at Colin with lovely bright silver-gray eyes narrowed in censure. Even that lush mouth pursed in prim condemnation would do nicely. He recalled a few years ago, at a country garden party held by the local squire, his sister Julia had twisted an ankle. When the squire’s son had offered to escort her inside, the damn chit had jumped into the man’s arms. The aghast expression on the boy’s face had indicated he meant to offer an arm. This lady appeared to be a priggish miss who seemed to represent everything the old dragon claimed his sisters lacked—restraint and the proper proprieties. Except, Colin had not counted on a lady so young or so pretty.
What could she know? He had imagined a spinster in her late thirties or perhaps her forties with a stiff spine, a militant walk, and a mole atop her bony yet elegant nose. A lady as buttoned up as Miss Hermina Fernsby he imagined would not know what a kiss was if it smacked her right on the mouth. The reality of the woman’s mouth was that it had been fashioned for temptations of the wickedest kind.
It was hard to imagine all the infernal rules he had read within the book, A Lady’s Guide to Proper Etiquette and Charm, came from this young lady’s thoughts.
She simply did not fit the expectations he had imagined a schoolmarm should own. Miss Fernsby had a beautiful mane of chestnut brown hair upswept in a riot of curls, and the hat perched atop those curls seemed in danger of toppling off. She owned a pointed chin, gently sloped cheekbones, and her eyes glowed with sharp intelligence which were busily assessing him. At closer inspection, it seemed her hat was designed that way, to appear rakishly tilted.
The lady was also petite; the top of her head would barely brush his shoulders, yet she gave off an air of feminine strength. Colin couldn’t quite say why he got that impression…perhaps it was the curious and unflinching manner in which she stared at him. Most females who looked at him always blushed. This lady was perhaps not so young, yet a quick glance at her hands did not reveal any clues to her matrimonial state for they were incased in supple dove gray gloves. And as he had recently learned from the old dragon, not every woman of the ton wore a wedding band.
“Mr. Fairbanks, you are staring, sir.”
She was also very direct and had about her an inquisitive air.
His gaze lingered unnecessarily on her mouth before he ruthlessly controlled himself and looked at her forehead. “How old are you, Miss Fernsby?”
“I am four and twenty, Mr. Fairbanks, and perfectly capable of doing the job required,” she said crisply.
He arched a brow and her pretty mouth smiled.
“I can see the doubt written on your face. I assure you it is not necessary.”
And to think his sisters normally teased that he had an inscrutable expression that infuriated them. “How much experience do you have in matters like this, Miss Fernsby?”
“Are we having the interview here?”
“We are alone; hence, we are assured of privacy.”
“Sir, we are standing on your doorstep.”
Bloody hell. He knew better. He could only blame his lapse of manners on the fact he was still recalling how sublime it had felt to have her pressed against him. Colin’s reaction had been instant and visceral as his body had stirred with want. That should have been impossible given how he had spent the night in pleasant debauchery in Colette’s arms. Worse, despite his love and appreciation of the female form, he had never before responded with such quick attraction to another lady.
With an inward sigh, Colin realized he would not be able to hire her. However, it would not do to simply turn her away; he would have to continue on with the interview. “By all means, let’s retire to the library.”
“I can see there will be a lot of work to be done,” she muttered, turning around and hobbling forward. “I should charge more.”
He glared at her back. “I am already paying you a damn fortune.”
“A gentleman does not eavesdrop on a lady’s private conversation.”
Colin missed a step in his astonishment. “Does that also extend to ladies who speak to themselves?”
“Of course,” she said primly, “especially those ones.”
He noticed here that the bit of her ear not hidden under the profusion of curls was red. Was the lady by chance blushing? His butler, Orwell, opened the door, and she handed over her blue pelisse that appeared well worn, for its color was faded in some spots. He also noted her boots were scuffed and her gloves had seen better days. No wonder the damn heel on her boots had broken. She was clearly in need of funds. Still, the lady’s clothes were clean and neat, fitting her petite figure with perfect form.
Once Colin handed over his gloves and coat, he informed his butler tea was to be served in the library, and then Colin escorted Miss Fernsby to the palatial library which also served as a study. Despite her hobble, her walk was dignified. She glanced around, noting the rows of bookcases taking up an entire wall, the large oak desk with the lion motif repeated in its clawed feet, the lush carpet decorating the floor, and the green chaise longue by the fire. Several chairs and sofas were also artfully scattered about the space.
“Please sit, Miss Fernsby.”
The lady lowered herself into a high wingback chair which seemed to swallow her petite form. He sat on a sofa opposite her, leaned back, and crossed his legs.
“Are you the author of A Lady’s Guide to Proper Etiquette and Charm?”
“Yes, I am. I recall from your letter that you’ve read it, Mr. Fairbanks.”
He gave her a considering look. “Twice.”
