Page 14 of The Lady’s Deception

Did she fear the girls needed protection from him? Evidently, she had not yet discovered that salutary neglect was more his family’s style. Though in his case, it might better be described simply as neglect.

“Surely you are not suggesting that Daphne be allowed to speak to her governess in such a manner?” he said, testing.

Her head dipped lower, hiding her expression entirely. “She spoke without thinking. She was frightened, that’s all.”

“And so—” He bit off the next words. And so was I.

The realization shocked him. Frightened? For Miss Gorse?

Her heavy blond hair had slipped from its pins to caress her swan-like neck. He recognized the base impulse that urged him to gather her body against his, to press his lips to the curve of her throat and capture the wild thrum of her pulse. That impulse had nothing to do with fear.

But still, his heart rattled in his chest. Oh, yes. He was afraid.

“And so was I, Miss Gorse,” he said, when he could be certain the words would come out in his customary mocking tone. “It would be a great inconvenience to have to seek out another governess.”

She twisted her head to fix him with one disbelieving eye. Splat! A cold raindrop pelted her cheek and rolled away like a tear.

“It’s about to come down in earnest,” he predicted. “Allow me to help you to your feet.”

Too late. As he rose, the scattered drops became a heavy shower. Wrapping his hand around her forearm, he lifted as she scrambled to get her feet beneath her. When she proved a trifle unsteady, he gathered his resolve and settled his other arm around her. His hand fitted neatly to the curve of her waist, as it had the night before. Dangerously comfortable. Carefully, he led her toward the house across ground that was already growing muddy and slick. By the time they reached the door, they were soaked. “Molly,” he bellowed as soon as they were inside. “Fetch some towels to Miss Gorse’s room.”

“I can make it from here,” the governess said, reaching out to lay her palm against the stairwell wall to balance herself, since the hand on the bannister side was still clutching her head.

He knew he should let her go.

He did not.

“Forgive me, Miss Gorse,” he said. “But I’d rather you didn’t go tumbling down into the kitchen.”

“You mean, you’d rather not have to carry me up again.” Her voice was a curious mixture of teasing and embarrassment.

Fighting the instinct of his right hand to pull her closer, he gripped the bannister more firmly with his left instead. “I can think of worse fates,” he said, intending to sound reassuring. But even his voice no longer seemed to be quite within his control. The words left his lips as a seductive murmur.

She made no answer, but once they were inside the room, she slipped from his supportive arm and made her way unaided across the floor. Heavily, she sat down on the bed that had been Cami’s. On the threshold, he hesitated. No desire to leave. No pretext to stay, either.

Well, then, he would invent one. “Will you permit me to look at your injury?” he asked. “I wish to reassure myself you are not seriously harmed.”

She hesitated. Finally, for answer, she removed her hand from her face and let her arm sink slowly into her lap. He came to stand beside her. The room was dim. With fingers he half-expected to tremble with foolish anticipation, he reached up and touched her, the lightest brush along her jaw, urging her to turn toward the comparative brightness of the rain-streaked window. She complied readily. Too readily. He had no chance to relish the petal softness of her skin. No excuse to linger.

Expecting to see the bloom of a black eye, he looked down in surprise at her unmarked face. Seeing his confusion, she reached up with one hand to lift the damp hair away from her brow, revealing a gash at her temple, surrounded by an angry-looking welt.

Stepping to the washstand, he wetted the corner of a towel in the washbasin and returned to dab away a trickle of blood. She winced. Gently, he laid the cool cloth over the wound, then reached for her hand where it lay in her lap. He settled her palm over the cloth, then rested his own hand lightly over hers for a moment.

When the compress was secure, he sank onto his haunches beside the bed in order to meet her eyes. Pain mingled with uncertainty in their blue depths. But her gaze was focused, clear. “Headache?” he asked.

She started to nod, winced again, and whispered, “Yes.”

“Let me call the physician who lives across the square. Sir Owen—”

A flare of alarm. “Oh, no. That’s not necessary. I’m fine. I will be fine,” she corrected.

“When Molly comes in with the towels, you must ask her for anything else you need. Anything that would make you more comfortable.”

Miss Gorse looked doubtful. “I wouldn’t want to cause her any trouble. I’ll just rest until dinner, if I may. The girls—”

“Leave them to me.”

Another flare of worry lit her eyes, but she did not speak.