The last thing she had expected was to be greeted by such a breathtaking man. It was his voice she recognized. The pitch sent ripples of forbidden delight straight to the toes of her ill-fitting shoes. It carried a command that she might have ignored in her garden, but in his domain, and in his captivating presence, there was no question of ignoring him.
He was a peer of the realm, a duke, even if he looked rather young and offhanded about his role, with his long coat unbuttoned and his shirtsleeves rolled up to his wrists.
A grin counterbalanced his brooding stare. “If you aren’t comfortable sitting before me, I insist you at least put aside the muff and reticule you’re holding like a battle shield. They appear rather awkward.” He reached to unhook the reticule from her wrist, lifting his teasing face to hers. “I thought you clanked against the door when you entered. Is there a dagger or gun on your person? Are young governesses so imperiled these days that they must carry weapons to their interviews?”
“I wouldn’t know,” she said, miffed at his mockery and disconcerting charm.
“This is your first interview?”
His smoky eyes studied her intently; she wouldn’t dare lie when she needed this job. The newspaper notice promised good pay.
“Yes.” She lowered her reticule to the empty chair. The dragon and its accoutrements slid from her fur muff to the bare wooden floor. An embarrassing clunk echoed in the room. A governess, like the children in her care, should not draw the master’s attention. Yet the duke stared down in bemusement at the brass ring, dragon, and plate.
Quickly, she bent, aghast at her clumsiness. He looked down at the floor in astonishment. So much for the door knocker bringing her luck. The duke studied it a moment longer before looking up again. “That’s an unusual token to bring to an interview. Does it hold a personal meaning for you?”
She winced. “It’s our door knocker. The bolts severed when I closed the door this morning to come here. You saw the condition of the manor house.”
They went down on their knees at the same moment. Ivy swallowed; his hard chin brushed her head. She supposed it was too much to hope he would act as if it were completely normal for a potential governess to carry a heraldic door knocker to her first interview. Perhaps he’d excuse her as an eccentric, and not an impoverished lady who’d brought along evidence of her desperation on her person.
“It’s a sanctuary hold,” he said in surprise, “not a door knocker.”
Their fingers met across the ancient brass ring. Warmth suffused Ivy at the unexpected contact. “Yes,” she said, caught off-balance. “It belonged to the medieval monastery on the grounds behind the manor before it was built. Cromwell’s troops destroyed the priory during his reign, and my great-great-grandfather salvaged it from the ruins.”
“A dragon is the insignia of my regiment in the infantry.”
“The dragon is our Welsh talisman.”
She started to withdraw her hand; his fingers closed over her knuckles, a strong grip, alive, in contrast to the cold brass.
“In days past a fugitive had only to lift it once to receive sanctuary,” he said. “The question is—”
Ivy’s heart pounded. “What is it doing in my muff?”
He smiled. His eyes drifted over her inelegantly poised form. “That’s a good question, yes. But what I meant to ask is which of us at this moment is in greater need of sanctuary.”
The warmth turned to smoldering heat that reached deep inside her.
Sanctuary?
She wasn’t sure of that.
Never had she felt so drawn to a man, it was true. Although she didn’t know whether she should trust him. She needed this position. If he offered it to her, it should not be because his smile made her clumsy and . . . his attentions made her weak. Somehow it was almost as if she knew him.
His eyes shone as if they were keeping a secret, too. He probably thought her a fool for bringing a sanctuary hold to his house. “I might have been better off applying for a position at an alehouse,” she thought aloud.
“Does your dragon breathe fire?” he asked, grinning at her.
A little of her anxiety melted. “I suspect he does when no one is looking.”
He raised his other hand to her face. “Do you think he’s looking now?”
“Looking at what, Your Grace?” she asked blankly.
“At us,” he said, and stretched forward to kiss her with a sweet familiarity she did not understand.
She had been kissed only once before, just like this, and as romantic as she remembered the moment, her entire life had fallen apart afterward. She had attended a party in the hope of meeting a suitor who would make a good husband. Instead, a masked scapegrace had flustered her, as the duke was doing now.
Did she want to be employed by a man who was kissing her during her interview? What favors would he demand at a later time? He drew back slightly. Moment by moment she regained her wits. Then he pressed his forefinger to her lower lip, and she lifted her eyes to his. His arrogant smile seemed too familiar. But it couldn’t be. . . .
“It is you!” she said in astonishment. “The man at the masquerade in London.”
“I was rather hoping you’d remember me,” he said ruefully. “I knew right away who you were.”
“I was unmasked,” she said in self-defense. And he’d swept her off her feet.
She laughed then. It was unwise of her, but really, she couldn’t imagine how the duke’s kisses could portend anything but problems.
He had risen to his feet, however, and it was impossible to appear self-possessed while she remained on the floor in a worshipful pose. Not, she supposed, that he was unaccustomed to worship. But she wasn’t used to sprawling and dropping door knockers about. He didn’t seem to care what impression he had made on her. But then he had no need to impress anyone.
“You could have simply introduced yourself to me,” she said. “Or never have mentioned our meeting in London at all.”
“Think of how awkward it would be for you to remember where we met while you were in the middle of a history lesson.”
She glanced away before he could see the disbelief cross her face. He was offering her the position. Were there strings attached? She had to accept whatever crumbs he would throw her way. Still she said nothing. He’d made no secret of the fact that he wanted Fenwick Manor. Was she to be his means of acquisition?
He couldn’t have known, years ago, that they would meet again like this.
His voice filled the silence. “We could consider it a kiss to seal our agreement.”
“It’s hardly how I expected to begin service.”
He smiled at her. “It was rather uncivilized.”
It was more of a Norman conquest. He had made up his mind. Should she ask for a day to consider his terms, whatever they might be? She thought of the other hopeful applicants gathered like a horde outside these walls and decided she couldn’t take that risk.
“Remember the children,” he said, extending his hand. She stared at his wrist for a moment before he pulled her off the floor with a strength that brought their bodies together.
“Children?”
“Mary and Walker.” He drew her around the desk and placed a pen in her hand. “I know this seems rushed, but they need a stable influence in their lives. Do you mind signing the contract right now? It would take a burden off my shoulders, I’ll admit.”
“Shouldn’t I read it first?”
“It’s a standard contract. You will be committed to me for a year. Your wages will be forty pounds, which I think you will agree is more than fair.”
It was twice what a top governess would earn, and now that Ivy had begun to emerge from her initial shock, she could hear voices rising from the hall. “We are about to be stormed like the Bastille,” he said, shaking his head as if sharing a weighty secret.
She smiled dryly. “How difficult it must be for Your Grace to turn down all the women who desire to work under your roof.”
“It won’t be difficult for me,” he said with a smile to answer hers. “Carstairs will inform them.”
“Then thank you for your time. I’m grateful to have been chosen.”
Again those gray eyes took an experienced survey of her person. Already her doubts rose up. Had she made a mistake taking the position? A peer of the realm might assume he had certain rights over a governess that she did not wish to relinquish.
Her gaze met his. His eyes betrayed no further mischief. She’d like to think he had been studying her for neatness instead of as a woman he could take to bed. She lowered her gaze to the desk, staring at the contract she had signed. “Should I have read that document more carefully?”
“Why aren’t you married?” he asked unexpectedly.
The question would have mortified her had she not noticed the letter sitting on his desk.
Dearest James,
I am more excited to be with you than words can express. How long we have waited to be alone.
The duke’s voice put an end to her spying career. “Lady Ivy?”
She looked up in embarrassment. He’d asked her why she had never married, and she had discovered he was expecting a lover to arrive. Or so that letter seemed to suggest. Of course it could be old correspondence. Of course she could mind her own business.
He shook his head. “Have you loved and lost, perhaps?”
Only you, she thought, on the most tumultuous evening of my life.
She could invent a story, but she was too taken aback to think on her feet. So this was the unabashed rogue who had offered to marry her if she didn’t have five proposals by noon the next day.
He looked gorgeous without his mask. More gorgeous than she’d imagined, and he had figured in her imagination on innumerable occasions since then. Sometimes he’d gone beyond kissing her. In her dreams she had met him at midnight and he’d seduced her until morning so that he had no choice but to marry her. His proposal had interrupted her father’s duel. Instead of a funeral, there had been a wedding and honeymoon composed of wicked and wistful moments.
“Lady Ivy?” The duke’s deep voice drew her back to the present dilemma. “It was a personal question. You don’t have to answer.”
Question? What question? Oh, the one about marriage. She really should make up a story. The truth sounded quite unimpressive.
She thought of the eligible gentlemen she had once turned down. Only two, it was true. But surely if she’d married one, she would be in a better place than where she and her sisters currently found themselves.
The duke had investigated her background before he’d agreed to this interview, hadn’t he? He couldn’t know that Billy Wilson had proposed to her at Fenwick, vowing her father’s scandal didn’t matter, only to retract his offer a week later.
Then again, the duke wasn’t a man to underestimate.
She sighed. “I never found the right gentleman before our family fell from grace. Or perhaps, I was always the wrong woman.”
His eyes searched hers until it became a battle to maintain her dignity. She had told the truth. He could order her out the door if he disapproved.
He nodded slowly. “Your father’s sins are not yours.”
So he had heard. “You’re one of the few men I’ve met in society to think so.”
“Society is comprised of sheep. I care more about your present behavior. I assume you are not given to flirtation?”
She could’ve hit him with her sanctuary hold. How presumptuous. Given to flirtation, he asked, and with a straight face. She blushed at the memory of the two of them on the floor. She certainly hadn’t initiated that kiss. And in no manner was that to be interpreted as a prelude to a liaison. It was criminal what a handsome man could get away with.
“I assure Your Grace that I am not given to kissing or flirting with random strangers. At masquerade balls or on floors.”
He rested his hip back against the desk. “Good. We’re no longer strangers, by the way.”
“We were never introduced.”
“We know each other now.” He assumed a somber attitude. “As governess you must hold yourself to be the North Star for the children. The last thing they need is another person drifting off on a whim.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” She knew how deeply a parent could damage a family.
“Can you start on Tuesday, please?”
“But that’s only a few days from now.”
“The sooner, the better.”
She panicked. She needed a wardrobe, shoes, food for her sisters until she was paid and could give them a little to live on. She’d intended to make a final journey to London to pawn her pearls before committing herself to service.
“Your Grace, please, may I start on Friday next?”
He wavered. She remembered what he’d said. She must not drift off and be caught staring at him every time they crossed paths. It was rather difficult, however, when his eyes traveled over her person, stopping at every button and indentation of her gown as if learning the topography of a map.
“Fine,” he said. “My carriage will collect you early on Monday morning at Fenwick Manor.”
She curtsied, turned again, and darted through the door the steward held open for her exit. “Welcome to Ellsworth Park, Lady Ivy,” he said warmly.
Good heavens. She did feel wanted.
“Thank you, Mr. Carstairs. Thank you ever so much.”
She must have regained enough decorum to satisfy the steward, for he granted her an approving nod and politely overlooked the fact that she almost fell through the door he had opened. The duke, she feared, would not be as easy to please.
By the time she reached the end of the entrance vestibule, Ivy understood why Carstairs had warned the duke to remain hidden until the grounds had been cleared of hopeful governesses. Gentlewomen of all ages soon filed from the receiving room, Carstairs dismissing them like cattle. Within moments the wrathful eyes of the rejected noticed Ivy sneaking down the hall.
A cry went up. “Is she the one? The first one?”
“He never heard about my experiences working in Siam.”
“She isn’t much to look at.”
“Which is a benefit, you ninny.”
“Well, I’m ordinary, too!”
Ivy quickened her step. The applicants had multiplied like rabbits since the time she had arrived at the estate.
Her heart sang with guiltless joy. This early bird had caught her worm, although nothing about the duke reminded her of a measly creature she could crush beneath her foot. In truth, she had signed a contract pledging her subservience to him.
Strange that he had already put his signature to the document. What made him so sure of her? What if one of the other applicants proved more qualified than Ivy and pleaded the chance to prove herself the better governess?
He had chosen her.
And if a long-ago kiss and her door knocker—she stopped in sudden realization, turning slowly. She had left her reticule and dragon behind in her rush to escape before he could change his mind.
The dragon would have to wait.
She wasn’t about to brave those parasols.
Or face the duke alone again.
* * *
Carstairs closed the door on Ivy’s rather graceless exit and approached the desk. “I hope you will not make a habit of that,” James said.
The steward stared at the floor. “Of what, Your Grace?”
“Of eavesdropping, you rapscallion.”
“I was only standing guard in case you required my assistance.”
“Against a governess?” James asked, grinning at the thought.
“You haven’t seen the mob in the reception room, Your Grace. There must be a hundred of them, and more arriving by the minute. Some of the ladies are poking one another with parasols in such antagonism I fear hostilities are about to break out.”
“Well, tell the parasols that the position has been filled and send them on their way.”
“Sight unseen?” Carstairs glanced down again at the floor. “Excuse me for asking, but what is that by your desk?”
James looked down at his feet, laughing quietly. “Damn me. She forgot her reticule, and her dragon.”
“Oh, dear,” Carstairs said. “Shall I run after her with the items?”
James went down on one knee. “Don’t bother. I shall return them to her myself.”
“But she hasn’t left the property yet.”
“Are you suggesting I subject myself to a horde of hostile umbrellas?”
Carstairs shuddered. “I will brave them for Your Grace. Stay hidden until the grounds are cleared.”
“Take reinforcements. I can’t afford to lose you, Carstairs.”