The Unconventional Governess

St. Raven’s hand flew up, as though warding off attack. “Sharp words, and they would deeply wound me if there had not been the admittance of charm to soften the blow.”

Henrietta rolled her eyes, but a laugh escaped. “Of course, that is all you heard.”

“I retain important statements,” he said solemnly.

“Obviously not—” Her laugh cut off as she spied the baronet heading toward her. “This is a disaster.”

“Future husband?” St. Raven puckered his lips in a way that was both funny and attractive. “A bit mule-faced if you ask me.”

“One cannot help the bone structure one is born with.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “We cannot all have symmetrical features, my lord, nor look as though we have been made to model for a Richard Crosse portrait.”

“You know your painters. I’m impressed. And I believe you’ve given me another compliment. Two in one evening are noteworthy.”

“Facts are not compliments.”

“Miss Gordon.” The baronet had reached them, a hopeful look upon his face. “Would you care to waltz with me?”

Henrietta felt the worst sort of panic at that point. Not only because she had not expected to waltz, considering it a fanciful and slightly inappropriate dance, but also because she hardly knew how. Before she could formulate a response, St. Raven moved forward.

“I’m afraid Miss Gordon has already promised this dance to me.”

* * *

Dominic slid his arm around Henrietta, guiding her to the floor as the musicians began the first strains of the waltz. They had hardly started when she stepped on his toe.

“You see,” he said, leaning close so that his lips were near her ear. She smelled of roses, of something soft and tender and sweet. “It is a good thing I wore sturdy boots to protect my delicate toes from your adventurous feet.”

“You are ridiculous, my lord.” A dusky hue invaded her cheeks.

Satisfied for some absurd reason, Dominic shrugged. “Better to be ridiculous than a snooze.”

“You should not have claimed a dance with me.”

“I was bored and you were near, and the waltz happens to be my favorite dance.”

They swept across the room, Henrietta doing her best to follow his lead. He slowed somewhat for her halting steps, intrigued. “It’s not often I meet a woman who cannot dance.”

“I have had no cause to practice,” she said in a small, stiff voice.

A hard part of him, one he did not realize existed, softened like butter on a warm day. He had no desire to cause her to feel badly about herself. “You have been saving lives, not spending your time learning silly dances.”

“Sometimes lives were saved.” A sad look overtook her face, and Dominic felt instant regret. His fingers tightened around hers and he was acutely aware of the slenderness of her body beneath his palm. “You never answered about when you plan to join your uncle?”

He swirled her past the bandstand, containing his wince when her knee knocked into his shin.

“I’m looking for a position somewhere. My uncle has decided to leave me in England, and I fear he hopes I’ll marry.”

“But you won’t.”

“No.” Her gaze flashed up to his for the first time since they began dancing. There were bits of gold hidden in the darkness of her eyes. They were forthright, honest eyes. As though no one had taught her the art of guile or flirtation.

“Whatever will you do?” The music was slowing, the song almost finished. He guided them to an alcove, fully visible to retain her impeccable reputation, but private enough to enable conversation.

“Governess, or a paid companion, I suppose. Just long enough to garner fare to join Uncle William.”

“He will not pay for your travel?”

She looked away, and Dominic realized that perhaps this lady was not without guile after all. For some reason, the notion amused him. “Does he know you’re coming?”

“To be frank, no, he has told me to stay here.” Those lovely eyes, earnest now, and somehow compelling, grabbed him. “But I cannot. I absolutely cannot stay. The only way for me to explain to him what I want is to speak to him face-to-face. Then he will see logic. I am quite sure of it.”

“So you will defy the will of your guardian?”

“Bah.” She waved her hand. “You speak of defiance as though he is the master of me.”

“Is he not?”

“No,” she said firmly. “And he knows that, which makes this situation altogether perplexing.”

The music had changed, and other guests crowded the floor, but Dominic found himself captivated by the determined purpose in Miss Gordon’s words. For many, many years his life had lacked direction. He had feared pursuing anything because of his affliction. Knowing he might die or be transported to an asylum at any time had put a damper on long-term goals.

“Why are you here?” he asked abruptly.

Startled, her lips pursed. “What do you mean?”

“Staying with Lady Brandewyne?”

“I suffered a bout with rheumatic fever.”

“Your uncle feared for your life and brought you home to England.”

“It was a small matter. He overreacted.”

But Dominic heard the doubt in her voice, and he had noticed the clothing that didn’t quite fit. Was it fair that she must surrender her freedom due to an illness? Or to the fears of an uncle? A plan was forming in his mind. He had simply wanted to get around to asking her what she knew about epilepsy, to get her opinion, but now he saw another, better option.

He flashed a grin. “You are looking lovely tonight. One would never guess you’d suffered from anything but an abundance of beauty and grace.”

She gave him a look, one that said clearly she saw past his flirtations and perhaps even found them tedious. The thought made him laugh.

“I presume you are cackling at your paltry attempt to charm me.” She crossed her arms, skewering him with an expression he might start calling her doctor look.

“Never. You are familiar with Louise and all her various quirks?”

“I would not call them quirks, but yes, I am aware that she is a strong-willed child.”

“Perhaps then, we can help each other?”

Chapter Five (#ud42ca2f8-c181-5e4d-a742-10605ce140c2)