Page 32 of A Stranger’s Promise

Sacre-bleu. It was hard not to drown in those green eyes. She drew a deep breath. “What use could they possibly be, my lord? I have no need of riding habits and most certainly not a ballgown.” Especially a crimson one.

“I beg to differ. As a governess in my employ, you represent my house, do you not?”

She nodded.

“Then you must dress the part.”

Damn the man, he seemed too pleased with himself.

“Then a serviceable dress or two, at most, my lord.” She smoothed her hands a bit self-consciously over her dress. “I am a governess. I have no use for such a wardrobe.”

His gaze caught and held hers. She was the first to glance away.

“Aye, you are a governess,” he murmured.

She hazarded a look at him. His eyes locked with hers again. This time, she didn’t look away. Keeping her distance and acting like a governess wasn’t going at all as she’d planned—but as she searched his compelling green gaze, only one question truly burned her soul.

“Why crimson?” she breathed.

His eyes glittered. “Why not?”

She tried to clear her thoughts, but he mesmerized her as if he’d cast a spell. His eyes dropped to her mouth. What were they speaking of? Ah, the dress.

She cleared her throat. “It is a rather…scandalous gown…far too bold to represent a noble house…and...” Her voice trailed away and all at once, the day's growth of beard darkening his strong jaw seemed much more pleasant to ponder.

“Nonsense,” he disagreed. “With your hair and those eyes, a crimson gown would be stunning on you.”

She felt herself melt into the warmth of his eyes. Her heart began to pound. He stepped closer. From the rise and fall of his chest, she knew he was going to kiss her—and that she’d let him if she stayed. Such a thing was far too dangerous, a Pandora’s Box that should never be opened. Charlotte darted around him and took a step toward the door.

He caught her wrist. “Stay.”

“I cannot,” she whispered.

Charlotte threw the door open and flew down the hallway. She skirted the grand oval staircase only to collide with a hard body stepping out from behind a marble column. She stumbled back, but a heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder.

Captain Edwards.

He pulled her roughly against his chest.

“Unhand me!” Charlotte twisted in an attempt to wrench free.

The Captain’s fingers tightened on her shoulders. “You are a credit to your father—or what he once was.”

Her jaw dropped. The audacity of the man. “You have no right to speak of my father. Let me go.”

His hold tightened. “I worry for you, Charlotte, cast adrift in this place.”

“You worry now?” she retorted. “Why not in London, when I desperately needed your help?” She choked, too angry to continue, and shoved his chest harder.

“We shouldn’t quarrel, Charlotte.” A hungry gleam entered his eyes.

Fear slammed into her. She wriggled, but he only crushed her tighter.

“I miss you, Charlotte.” He dropped his head, his beard grazing her neck. “I need you.” He groaned.

Disgust rolled over her. Hadn’t she already escaped the man? Was he trying to drag her back? “I will never marry you,” she swore.

He straightened and laughed. “I could never marry you. But I will accept you as my mistress. You must be discreet.” He splayed his fingers low on her hip.

Her stomach turned. “You arrogant fool. I want nothing to do with you. I never did, and I never will.”

The dinner gong sounded.

Voices sounded on the staircase, from levels above and below. The Captain’s hold loosened as he glanced over his shoulder. She shoved at his chest, then froze when movement down the hall caught her eye.

Lord Cassilis turned the corner and froze.

Before Charlotte could react, a woman’s voice called nearby, “Captain?”

The Captain jerked away, and as guests flooded the hall, blocking her view of Lord Cassilis as, she turned on her heel and marched away, regretting she hadn’t had the chance to knee Captain Edwards in the groin.