Page 4 of The Lady’s Deception

“You’re English.” Part observation, part accusation. She wasn’t the first beautiful woman his fancy had invented, but never before had his imagination betrayed his politics so thoroughly.

“I’m Miss Gorse,” she replied, as if that decided the matter.

Oddly enough, it did. Because only a real woman could have such a prickly name. And such a prickly voice. Which, heaven help him, was still speaking.

“—and his two children—”

Damn it all. His sisters. He’d promised them, when the last interview had turned up no likely candidate, that Mrs. Fitzhugh would surely know of someone suitable. And now he’d have to confess that he’d—

A tongue of wind licked along the river, rippling the water before gusting up the face of the imposing edifice in whose shelter they stood. He pushed himself up a little straighter, bolstered as much by the cool air as by the cornerstone’s sharp edge where it fitted neatly along the groove of his spine.

Two children… Was it possible? He’d understood the meeting with Mrs. Fitzhugh to be preliminary, but perhaps she had not waited to speak with him before deciding on the right person for the job.

“You’re looking for a lawyer, you say?”

Her mouth, already forming other words, hung open a moment before shaping an answer to his question. “Yes. I thought—”

“Mrs. Fitzhugh sent you to find Mr. Burke at King’s Inns, I gather.”

“Er—”

“Well, you’ve found him. I’m Paris Burke. Barrister. Of course, you’ll really be in my father’s employ. A man without children isn’t likely to need a governess, now is he?” His wry laugh ricocheted off the stone walls, startling a flock of drowsy rooks who cawed their disapproval.

Her lips were parted once again, but this time no words came. She was watching him with wide eyes that did not narrow, even when she at last closed her mouth and jerked her head in some uncertain motion, neither disagreement nor agreement.

“My sisters will be delighted to meet you, Miss Gorse. I am surprised, though, that Mrs. Fitzhugh didn’t send you directly to Merrion Square.”

“I don’t—” She paused, wetted her lips, and appeared to weigh her reply before beginning again. “Is it far?”

“No more than a mile. An English mile, to be precise,” he added, curving his mouth into a sort of smile. He would not have guessed that Mrs. Fitzhugh had a sense of humor. To send him, of all people, an Englishwoman… “At least we’ve a fine night for a stroll.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she dipped her head in a nod. “Indeed, Mr. Burke. I had no thought this morning that the day would take a turn for the better.”

“Ah, well. It mightn’t’ve, you know.” Turning, he set off along the quayside. “An Irish spring is not to be predicted.”

“This is my first,” she said. “My first Irish spring, that is.”

Last spring, then, she’d been elsewhere. In England, presumably. Far from the turmoil that had enveloped Dublin and the surrounding countryside. Far from the rebellion that had taken the lives of so many. And for what? For naught, for naught…

The warm glow of the claret guttered like a candle, struggling to withstand the damp, clammy mist rising from the Liffey. He had not realized he had lengthened his stride until he heard the sounds of someone struggling to keep up.

“Mr. Burke?” She had one hand pressed to her side and a hitch in her gait. “I wonder if we might walk a bit more slowly.”

When she reached his side, he held out his free arm and she took it, not with the perfunctory brush of her fingertips, but with her whole hand, leaning heavily against him. Odd. She was petite, but she didn’t look frail. “Shall I hail a sedan chair, Miss Gorse?” Though truthfully, this was an unlikely spot to hail anything but trouble. And the more he thought of Mrs. Fitzhugh directing a woman to meet him here, in this fashion, the less he liked it. Why, he might have been detained at commons for hours, and she left alone as darkness fell…

Her touch lightened as she bristled. “I can walk.” Her step was almost brisk as they crossed the Carlisle Bridge. “So you’re in need of a governess?”

“For my sisters. Daphne and Bellis. Aged ten and eight, respectively. You’ll find them as ignorant as most girls their age, I daresay.”

She drew back her shoulders at that description. “Their previous governess was not firm enough with them?”

“I’m almost embarrassed to admit it, but they haven’t any previous governess. They are the youngest of the six of us and shockingly spoiled. My father in particular has always been prone to indulgence where they were concerned.”

Some emotion—he hesitated to call it disapproval—sketched across her face. “Then whatever made him decide to hire a governess now?”

“He knows nothing of the matter, Miss Gorse.”

Those words brought her up short. “Will he not be angry that you hired someone to teach his daughters without reference to his authority?”