Dangerous to Kiss (6 page)

“I missed something, didn’t I?” said Deborah. “That’s why you are smiling that secret smile to yourself.”

“Beg pardon?” Gray’s thick veil of lashes lowered to diffuse the intentness of her look.

Deborah seated herself. “I missed something when Millicent offered you a cucumber sandwich. What was it?”

If he had the dressing of her, the first thing he would do was banish the mob cap. There wasn’t a curl or stray tendril of hair to be seen. “A note.”

“A note?”

“Mmm.” Red hair or blond. It had to be one or the other. Unless she had dyed it, of course. He wouldn’t put it past her. If this were a tavern and she were not a lady, he would offer her fifty, no, a hundred gold guineas if only she would remove that blasted cap.

“Are you saying that Millicent passed you a note?”

Her voice had returned to its prim and proper mode. He was beginning to understand why she had kept out of the public eye. She couldn’t sustain a part.

“The note,” Deborah reminded him gently.

“The note? Ah yes, the note. It was in the cucumber sandwich.” She was trying to suppress a smile, and her dimples fascinated him. No one had mentioned that she had dimples.

“Oh dear, I suppose I should show it to Miss Hare. That girl is incorrigible.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

“Why won’t it?”

“On her way out, she snatched it back. I believe she ate it.”

When she laughed, he relaxed against the back of his chair, well pleased with himself. That wary, watchful look that had hovered at the back of her eyes had completely dissipated. He was beginning to take her measure. The more he erased his masculinity, the more trustful she became. Unhappily for him, there was something about Deborah Weyman that stirred the softer side of his nature. Advantage to her.

Deborah sipped at her sherry, trying to contain her
impatience. As her prospective employer, it was up to him to begin the interview. He lacked the social graces. She wasn’t finding fault with him. On the contrary, his inexperience appealed to her. It made him seem awkward, boyish, harmless. Besides, she had enough social graces for the two of them.

“Miss Hare mentioned that you were seeking a governess for your young sister?” she said.

He was reluctant to get down to business. All too soon, things would change. That trustful look would be gone from her eyes, and Miss Weyman would never trust him again. Pity, but that was almost inevitable. Still, he wasn’t going to make things difficult for her at this stage of the game. That would come later.

Deborah shifted restlessly. “You will wish to know about references from former employers,” she said, trying to lead him gently.

“References?” He relaxed a little more comfortably against the back of his chair. Smiling crookedly, he said, “Oh, Miss Hare explained your circumstances to me. Having resided in Ireland with your late husband for a goodly number of years, you allowed your acquaintance with former employers to lapse.”

“That is correct.”

“I quite understand. Besides, Miss Hare’s recommendation carries more weight with me.”

“Thank you.” She’d got over the first hurdle. Really, it was as easy as taking sweetmeats from a babe. Mr. Gray was more gullible than she could have hoped. The thought shamed her, and her eyes slid away from his.

“Forgive me for asking,” he said, “Miss Hare did not make this clear to me. She mentioned that in addition to teaching my sister the correct forms and addresses, you would also impart a little gloss. How do you propose to do that?”

There was an awkward pause, then Mr. Gray brought his glass to his lips, and Deborah shrank involuntarily. She knew that she looked like the last person on earth who could impart gloss to anyone.

For a long, introspective moment, she stared at her clasped hands. Seeing that look, Gray asked quietly,
“What is it? What have I said?” and leaning over, he drew one finger lightly across her wrist.

The touch of his finger on her bare skin sent a shock of awareness to all the pulse points in her body. She trembled, stammered, then fell silent. When she raised her eyes to his, she had herself well in hand. “I know what you are thinking,” she said.

“Do you? I doubt it.” He, too, had felt the shock of awareness as bare skin slid over bare skin. The pull on his senses astonished him.

His eyes were as soft as his smile. Disregarding both, she said earnestly, “You must understand, Mr. Gray, that governesses and schoolteachers are not paid to be fashionable. Indeed, employers have a decided preference for governesses who know their place. Servants wear livery. We governesses wear a livery of sorts too. Well, you must have noticed that the schoolteachers at Miss Hare’s are almost indistinguishable, one from the other.”

“You are mistaken. I would know you anywhere.”

The compliment was unexpected and thrilled her until she remembered that he saw her as an aging dowd. She’d seen his kind in action before. She’d wager her last groat that he was quite the gallant in the presence of elderly ladies. In another moment, he would be pinching her cheek and swearing that, in her salad days, she must have been a breaker of hearts. It was too mortifying to be borne.

“The thing is …” she began.

“Were you happy as a governess?”

“Beg pardon?”

“It could not have been easy, submerging your own personality to fit someone else’s preconceived notions of what you should be.”

She didn’t mind being a governess. It was the necessity for her elaborate disguise that was hard to bear. In some ways it was like a prison sentence, but she couldn’t tell him that. Behind the spectacles, her lashes flickered. She didn’t want his sympathy, she wanted his respect. She had to convince him that she was the right candidate for the position.

“Mr. Gray, the point I am trying to make is this.” Conscious that her tone verged on the tart side, she tried to sweeten it with a smile. “You may not think it to look at me, but I have knowledge of court life; I know what it is to prepare a girl for her first season; I am well versed in the modes and manners that prevail in the upper echelons of court circles. I don’t have the credentials to prove it, but I am quite willing to be put to the test. Ask me something, anything you like, and I shall endeavor to answer you.”

He could almost taste the desperation behind her words. He had her in the palm of his hand. The thing to do now was to bring the interview to a speedy conclusion and arrange a time convenient to them both to convey her to the “villa” Nick had rented outside Wells. He did not wish to bring the interview to a close, not yet. There was something about Miss Deborah Weyman, a sadness, a wistfulness, and yes, a heart-tugging bravado that drew him like a magnet. If only for a few moments, he wanted to prolong the pleasure of her company. It might well be the only time she would look upon him with favor. Once again, he felt the sting of regret, and was taken by surprise.

“I don’t know what to ask,” he said, throwing her a helpless look.

“Think of your sister. What is it you wish for her?”

That was easy to answer. The real Margaret was quite a handful, and likely to give him a crop of silver hair before he had safely married her off. “Well …” he began, warming to his part.

“Nothing you can say will embarrass me, I promise you.”

His lashes lowered to half mast. If the lady was eager to play games, he was willing to indulge her. “As Miss Hare may have told you,” he said, “my sister, Margaret, is quite an … um … heiress. Oh, don’t mistake me. Margaret is no fool. She knows about fortune hunters and men of that ilk. It is experience in turning them off that she lacks. What advice would you give her?”

“Nothing could be simpler,” said Deborah, bringing to the question the same directness she would bring to a
problem that one of the girls had raised in class. “Avoid such men as if they were poison.”

And that’s exactly what he had told Meg, not that she’d listened to him. For all her paucity of years, she thought she knew how to handle men. He’d wager that Meg knew more than Miss Weyman did.

Her bright eyes were watching him. Making a steeple with his fingers, he said, “With some gentlemen, that only makes them more persistent. They see it as a challenge. What if … what if she were caught unawares, like … like you, for instance, alone, with me, behind closed doors?”

Deborah’s eyes flicked nervously to the closed door, then back to Gray. Cautiously inching forward in her chair, she looked with alarm at his left shoulder.

“What is it?” asked Gray, frowning.

“Don’t move,” she whispered. “There’s a wasp crawling inside your collar.”

“What!”

While Gray lurched to his feet and batted ineffectually with his hands, Deborah darted to the door. With her hand on the knob, she turned back to laugh at him. “It’s all right, Mr. Gray,” she said. “There was no wasp.”

By degrees, his glare gave way to a sheepish grin. Shaking his head, he said, “That was diabolical!” and he strolled toward her. When he came to the door, he negligently propped one shoulder against it. “You have convinced me that Margaret could do no better,” he said. “In the interests of harmony, though, I think we should avoid the word ‘governess’ and substitute ‘companion.’ What do you say, Mrs. Mornay?”

Deborah’s eyes were brilliant. Her voice wavered. “You won’t regret it, Mr. Gray. I promise you.”

“No, I daresay I won’t. Then it only remains to arrange the day and the hour when I may convey you to my sister.”

“I must speak with Miss Hare first.”

“Naturally.”

Deborah pulled on the doorknob to no avail. “Would you mind, Mr. Gray?” she said, indicating that
the door would not budge because he was still propped against it.

In one smooth, unthreatening movement, he caught her by the wrist and held her fast. There was no fear in Deborah’s eyes, only a question.

“And what if, my dear Mrs. Mornay,” he said, “my sister should find herself in this predicament?” He raised her wrist and resisted her feeble struggles when she tried to free herself. “What advice would you offer then?”

Deborah dimpled up at him. “Assuming the girl has lungs, I would advise her to use them. Scream, Mr. Gray. She should scream, and when she is rescued, as she is sure to be, she should give out that a wasp crawled inside
her
collar.”

“You have an answer for everything,” he said in a slow, sleepy voice, and he edged closer. “I know how to prevent a scream. What if … what if the gentleman in question were to kiss her?” His eyes dropped to Deborah’s mouth.

He was close, so very close, and she could feel his warm breath on her cool cheek. It wasn’t fear or curiosity that held her captive, nor yet the restraining grasp on her wrist. A strange yearning uncurled inside her, then spread out in ripples, till she was shivering in anticipation. Slowly, inexorably, he tugged on her wrist, bringing her closer. Her lips parted and she forgot to breathe. His head descended. Hers lifted.

A gong sounded, just outside the door. Gray’s eyes flared. Deborah blinked rapidly, then she looked about her as though she had no recollection of how she had got there.

When she gasped, he released her and took a quick step back. She was still gazing up at him, horror-struck, when he opened the door with a flourish and motioned her to precede him.

“If I’m not mistaken,” he said, “study hall is over.”

Her cheeks flooded with color and her eyes anxiously searched his. “Mr. Gray, I don’t know what—”

He spoke at the same moment. “You were going to stamp on my foot. That’s it, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“You were playing up to me. Then, when I was distracted, you were going to stamp on my foot?”

She fastened on his words as if he had thrown her a lifeline. “Y-yes.” Then more emphatically, “Yes. That’s exactly what was in my mind.”

When they came into the corridor, they were caught up in the rush of girls who were coming and going to their various classes. Deborah was glad of the confusion, and embarked on a disjointed flow of small talk that lasted till Mr. Gray had taken his leave of her. As soon as the door closed upon him, she spun on her heel and made for the long pier glass in the teachers’ common room.

Her reflection was vastly reassuring, she told herself. Mr. Gray could not possibly have been flirting with her. It was all in her head. Her steps were slow and heavy as she made her way to Miss Hare’s office.

In the library of the house that Gray had rented while he was staying in Bath, two gentlemen were playing a game of cards. One of those gentlemen was Nicholas Grayson, Gray’s younger brother. Like Gray, Nick was tall and blond and possessed his fair share of good looks. He was, however, a younger son, which made all the difference between them. Gray had responsibilities that Nick neither coveted nor thought much about. He was financially independent, and pursued a life of pleasure and ease, and if sometimes he found that life a bit of a bore, it was infinitely preferable to the one his mother, the dowager countess, had mapped out for him. Marriage and babies did not figure prominently in Nick’s scheme of things. That sad duty, he was frequently heard to airily protest, fell to the unhappy lot of his brother, the earl.