My Brown-Eyed Earl (7 page)

Undaunted, she lifted her chin. “Regarding the incident in the park earlier. I feel that I must apo—”

“No,” he snapped.

“But I—”

“We will not have this conversation now.” He let the final word hang in the air for a moment, and his implication was clear: whatever he intended to say could not be said in front of the girls. “See me in my study before dinner this evening. Seven o'clock, sharp.”

Meg's throat constricted, so she simply nodded.

He must mean to sack her.

One grave mistake had effectively dashed her plans to save Uncle Alistair from debtor's prison, see her sisters marry well, and gain a modicum of independence. How could she have been so careless? Her heart sank, and not just because of the money. Even now, Valerie's small hand was nestled in her own, and Diana's head leaned against her shoulder. Meg had disappointed them, too.

She sighed. She had lasted barely two days in her governess position. Approximately one day longer than she'd expected.

 

Chapter
SIX

 

Will poured himself a generous drink and sank into one of the pair of armchairs that flanked the fireplace in his study. As the first swallow of brandy blazed a path down his throat, he started to cross his legs—and immediately thought better of it.

Jesus. His stones still hadn't recovered entirely. It felt like they'd been hit by a battering ram rather than his governess's knee.

Maybe it served him right, because before Miss Lacey had nearly unmanned him, he had been undeniably aroused. Hard as a pine tree.

Even now, his cock swelled at the memory of her soft breasts pressed against his chest. Her lithe legs had straddled him, her thighs squeezing his hips with just the right amount of pressure. And when she'd lifted her head to look at him, a silky chestnut curl had fallen across his cheek, tempting him to spear his fingers through her hair and obliterate what was left of the tidy knot at her nape.

If there was one thing he could absolutely not resist, it was balancing a beautiful woman on top of him—even one as contrary as Miss Lacey. The combination of her full breasts bouncing above, her bottom pressing deliciously against his cock, and the unexpected interest in her sparkling eyes had instantly triggered his desire.

Cursing, he adjusted himself, threw back the rest of his brandy, and glanced at the clock on the mantle.

Two minutes to seven. Miss Lacey would not be late. She was rigid—a slave to rules—which was probably a useful and admirable trait in a governess. Unfortunately, it was a terrible trait in a lover. Not that he had any intention of bedding her. It was just a damned shame that someone as beautiful and passionate as she should be so … regimented.

But Will had realized a couple of other things in the park, as well. First, he was responsible for the twins. He'd known it before, on an intellectual level. But today, as the phaeton had careened down Rotten Row and Diana stood there defenseless, he'd
felt
it. In his gut. And it was terrifying. When he'd promised his cousin that he'd take care of the girls, he'd had no idea what he was signing up for, but he couldn't go back on his word. He wouldn't.

The second thing Will had learned was that Miss Lacey was all too willing to sacrifice her own well-being for the sake of her charges. She'd put herself in the path of charging horses in order to rescue Diana, and if Will hadn't swept her out of the way …

Christ. Heart pounding in his chest, he stood and refilled his glass.

Which led to his third and final revelation of the day. He had to protect Miss Lacey, too. For the sake of his own sanity. He couldn't worry about her and the girls every time they wanted to go for a walk in the park, for God's sake.

At the sound of footsteps, he checked the clock again. Predictably punctual, to the second.

“Good evening, my lord.” Miss Lacey stood at the threshold of his study, wringing her hands. The drab, navy gown she wore lent her face a pale, almost ghostly pallor. She had removed the bits of grass from her hair and the smudges of dirt from her cheeks, effectively erasing all traces of their intimate, if accidental, encounter. Pity, that.

Will waved a hand at the chair beside him. “Come in, please. Sit.”

She perched on the edge of the seat, folded her hands in her lap, and pursed her lips, adopting a pose that could have been called either
Demure Governess
or
Determined Spinster
. “Earlier in the coach,” she began, “you did not allow me to speak.”

“Why do I have the feeling you're about to rectify that now?”

“I would be remiss if I did not thank you for coming to my aid in the park.”

Will nodded. Perhaps it wasn't the most graceful thank-you, but she was a proud creature, and, if he were honest, he respected that about her. In an effort to meet her halfway, he said, “I regret that I had to tackle you. I would have avoided doing so if it were possible.”

“I understand. It was the lesser of two evils. I am in your debt.”

Will started to disagree and say she owed him nothing, but checked himself and mentally tucked her admission in his pocket. It might prove useful in future dealings with his governess. “The important thing is that no one was hurt.”

“Yes, about that.” She wrung her hands some more. “I feel that I must apologize for”—her cheeks instantly flushed bright pink—“the extremely unfortunate and entirely accidental contact that my knee happened to make with your…”

Will raised both brows and feigned ignorance. “With my
what
, Miss Lacey?”

The flush on her cheeks deepened and spread like a strawberry-colored ink stain, crawling down her pretty neck and disappearing behind the ridiculously high collar of her gown. “You know very well what I'm referring to.”

“You give me far too much credit. I'm not a reader of minds.” It was not well done of him, but damned if he could resist the chance to tease her.

She blew out a long breath and shot him a wary look. “Very well. I shall attempt to clarify as best I can. You were on the ground, and I was on—” She shook her head and started over. “We were
both
on the ground—”

Will frowned for effect. “That's not precisely the way I remember it, but do go on.”

“I was attempting to stand,” she continued through gritted teeth, “when my knee made incidental and regrettably injurious contact with…”

He leaned forward. “Yes?”

She crossed her arms, frustration rolling off of her in waves. “You know.” For the briefest of moments her gaze darted to the front of his trousers before returning to his face. Good God. It was incredibly improper and arousing as hell.

He leaned an elbow on the mantle behind him and crossed his legs at the ankles, hoping to create room in his trousers for his growing erection. “I confess that I
do
know, Miss Lacey. The question is, do
you
?”

“I know enough, my lord,” she tossed back at him. “And frankly, I'm not impressed.”

If he'd been sipping brandy, he would have choked on it. “You're not?”

“No,” she sniffed. “It seems exceedingly … fragile.”

“
Fragile
?”

She shrugged. “Consider the damage I inflicted with my knee. I wasn't even trying.”

“Truly? Because I'm beginning to have my doubts about that.”

She gasped. “You are thwarting my attempts to apologize for hurting you. Why do you enjoy humiliating me so?”

He opened his mouth to reply, then sank into the chair opposite her. Jesus, he was an ass. “It was poorly done of me. If it's any consolation, it wasn't my intention to embarrass you, so much as … to challenge you.”

She pressed her fingertips to her temple and squinted as though she felt a headache coming on. “To challenge me? I don't understand.”

“I enjoy sparring with you.” After he'd goaded her so mercilessly, she deserved to know the truth of it. “You're a worthy opponent, Miss Lacey.”

Her spine stiffened. “If you want a sparring partner, Lord Castleton, I suggest you find one at Jackson's Saloon. I am only a governess—and not a very good one at that,” she added, more to herself than to him. “Which brings me to the real reason I wished to speak to you and what I wanted to say earlier, in the coach.”

Ah, yes. If Will wasn't mistaken, she'd been on the verge of tendering her resignation. But if he let her leave, then he'd have to hire someone else, and where the devil was he going to find another governess willing to throw herself in front of charging thoroughbreds for the sake of a pair of little hellions? He'd be damned if he'd waste countless hours interviewing scores of bookish spinsters.

Time to nip her thoughts of resigning in the bud.

He crossed his arms and said, “If you'll recall, Miss Lacey, I am the one who summoned
you
here.”

“Yes, but I—”

“Can speak your mind after I've spoken mine,” he finished for her. “Fair enough?”

*   *   *

Meg bit her tongue and nodded. The earl paced thoughtfully in front of the fireplace, rubbing the light stubble on his chin as he no doubt debated the best way to inform her that he was sacking her. It didn't really matter whether he fired her or she quit, but she did wonder if there was a limit to how much humiliation a person could endure in one day. Surely, she was nearing the threshold by now.

“There will be no more incidents like the one that occurred today,” he said smoothly, as if it were just that easy to command it so.

“It was inexcusable,” Meg agreed. “I should never have let the girls wander off. My carelessness could have resulted in—”

“Miss Lacey,” the earl drawled, “a brief pause is not an invitation to speak.”

Meg bristled. “No? I rather thought that was how conversations worked, my lord.”

A smug smile spread across his face, and she realized she had fallen into the trap of sparring with him once more.

“Please, continue,” she said.

Lord Castleton inclined his dark head. “In order to avoid a repeat performance, you and the twins shall not depart the house unless accompanied by a footman. Harry will keep a close eye on you during each and every outing. You will not leave this house without him.”

After a period of silence, during which Meg's blood heated to a rolling boil, the earl waved his palm magnanimously. “Your turn. I'm sure you have plenty to say.”

Oh, she did, and most of it wasn't fit for polite conversation. She took another moment, exhaled, and said, “Allow me to make sure I understand. You want a footman to follow the twins and me every time we go for a stroll in the garden? We are essentially prisoners, allowed to leave the premises only when closely guarded?”

“You are being rather dramatic, Miss Lacey. This town house is a far cry from Newgate, and I am taking this measure to ensure the girls' well-being.”

Meg's blood bubbled a little more. “You think me incapable of keeping them safe.”

“The twins attract calamities like dogs' fur attracts burrs. I doubt any one person can keep them out of trouble, but Harry will lend his assistance by looking out for them. He will protect you, as well, if necessary.”

The glare she shot at him should have turned him to stone. “I
don't
require protection.”

“You did today.” There was no mocking or triumph in his voice, but rather a gravity that stunned her into silence. “I can't be with you all the time, but I can see that someone else is.” His brown eyes darkened as he looked at her, willing her to understand. His whole body tensed as he waited for her response.

It was, perhaps, the most vulnerable and honest she'd ever seen him. Beneath the usual masks of
Overbearing Earl
and
Dissolute Rake
, there was a man who might genuinely care for her. Not in a romantic way, but enough to be concerned for her safety.

Her skin tingled in the wake of his stare, and she swallowed. This side of Lord Castleton was rather difficult to resist.

Which was all the more reason she should resign. She and her sisters could not afford gowns, but they could afford a scandal even less. Any hint of impropriety could dash her sisters' chances of marrying well. Their very futures were at stake. “I understand the reasons for your decision, but I'm afraid we're debating a moot point.”

“And why is that?”

Now that it was time to speak, Meg's throat tightened and her mouth went dry. She licked her lips and forced herself to say the words. “The incident in the park this afternoon made me realize that I am not qualified to be a governess after all. I think you should find someone with more experience than I. Someone who understands children and—”

“What utter nonsense.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You were shaken by today's events—as anyone would be. But you reacted quickly. You saved Diana. No harm was done.”

“But what if—”

“Don't torture yourself with
what if
s, Miss Lacey. It's tedious and, worse, useless.” He pushed himself off the mantle, strolled to the sideboard behind his desk, and raised a decanter. “Brandy?”

Meg wrinkled her nose. “No, thank you.”

“Very well, then—port.”

“I don't care for a drink, my lord.”

He proceeded to pour one for each of them. “Then you may simply hold yours and humor me.”

He handed her a glass of port, sat in the chair opposite her, and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. He swirled the brandy in his snifter, gazing into it thoughtfully.

Meg took the opportunity to study his chiseled cheekbones, straight nose, and large hands. Those strong hands had grasped her shoulders, those long fingers had brushed over her skin. And for a moment—as she had lain atop him, earlier—an awareness had sparked between them.