The Duke's Guide to Correct Behavior (3 page)

At least he didn't have a wart or anything. That would be no less engrossing, but definitely less handsome.

At last she heard the door swing open behind her, and she turned around to see a small, slight child wearing a shabby gown and clutching the remnants of some sort of pastry, crumbs of which were falling to the floor.

And her expression—she looked as anxious and terrified as Lily felt, and Lily immediately felt a bond to this little girl who probably couldn't even count as high as all the rooms in the duke's house. Perhaps that would be one of their first lessons. If she got the job.

“Miss Rose, this lady has come to discuss taking a position as your governess.” His voice as he addressed the little girl was gentle, as though he knew just how intimidating he likely appeared to this tiny, pastry-eating waif. To females of all ages, she had to admit. Never mind that she wished she had a pastry herself. But that he knew
enough to use a softer tone surprised her. She wasn't accustomed to gentlemen being anything but demanding. Especially at her last unfortunate position.

He could never know of that particular item on her list of prior positions. Not if she wished to keep her current one.

“Her name is,” he continued, still in that soft tone, “. . . what is your name?” he muttered, sounding impatient.

Lily swallowed. “Lily Russell, Your Grace, but you can just call me Miss Lily.”

“Miss Rose, this is Miss Lily.” He chuckled, an entirely unexpected sound. “Perhaps I should be called the Duke of Gardening instead of Rutherford.” The joke was even more unexpected than the chuckle, but Lily couldn't spare a moment to think about how Dangerous a witty duke might be.

“Hello, Miss Rose.” Lily spoke softly, as he had, already aware she had to be gentle toward this obviously frightened girl. She could definitely sympathize—she was frightened as well, frightened she wouldn't suit, frightened she would end up like so many of the unfortunate women the agency hadn't helped.

Frightened she couldn't help this girl as she wished someone had helped her.

“It is a pleasure to meet you.” She knelt down and extended her hand toward the girl. “I would like to stay here and teach you. Would you like that?”

Rose looked at Lily's hand, then nodded as she
took a few steps, reached out and held it. “Yes,” she said in a whisper.

Lily heard the duke exhale behind her. “She's just barely arrived,” he said, “and hasn't spoken a word yet.” He was not at all the commanding duke who'd demanded her references, not now. Now he seemed almost . . . anxious. “Not even once, during our tea. I was worried that she was mute.”

Interesting. So he'd just met his charge? Not that it was any of her business, of course, prim, methodical Lily reminded that other curious, yelping part of her. But still. Interesting.

She smiled at Rose, who returned the smile, albeit shakily. “I believe Miss Rose and I will have plenty to discuss.” She turned her head to look at the duke. “May I assume I have the position, then?” she asked.

He glanced quickly at her, and the heat of his gaze seemed to penetrate to the fraud within, the woman who'd never really been a governess, just a young lady with a sister. Her stomach tightened in both hunger and anxiety.

“Yes,” he said at last. He barked out an order, and both Rose and Lily jumped. “Thompson, take Miss Rose and Miss Lily to one of the guest bedrooms, it doesn't matter which one. That will be the schoolroom.”

The girl's fingers were trembling, and Lily wished she could tell her that it was all right, that trembling in the presence of such a pink room and an arrogant duke was a perfectly normal reaction, only she didn't think it would be good for
the child to know her new governess was a ninny who yelped and pondered noses and wan begonias and a vast number of rooms rather than concerning herself with proper conduct.

She would save all that for a lesson sometime in the future, when the topic was Foolish Things Your Governess Thinks of and Does when Panicking.

If a duke does happen to do something that might fall outside the bounds of what most people in Society would consider proper behavior, it is incumbent upon the duke to behave as though not doing that thing would be scandalous. People in Society will then assume the behavior is faultlessly correct
.

—T
HE
D
UKE
'
S
G
UIDE
TO
C
ORRECT
B
EHAVIOR

T
he door shut behind them, all of them, and he was alone, wondering just what in God's name had he just done—although he could answer that, couldn't he? He'd taken in his illegitimate daughter after her mother died, had established this was to be her home, for the time, at least, and even hired a governess for her.

Not really what he thought most men in his position were accustomed to doing. Especially if they had spent most of the night drinking with their now boon companions.

First of all, if there was a daughter, she was usually legitimate, and therefore came with a mother, who would handle the hiring of the governess.

Illegitimate offspring didn't require recognition, let alone a governess.

The governess. He was now even more glad he was unencumbered in the wife area. Something about her made him prickle nearly as much as he had when first seeing Rose.

Or perhaps he was just tired.

Twenty-four hours earlier, his primary concern
had been whether to anoint Collins or Smithfield his new best friend. He still hadn't decided, but he was leaning toward Smithfield, since Collins ate the last bit of roast beef and had the temerity to ask a question of a duke.

Smithfield had just snored.

But now he had a child in his possession. A child for whom he was responsible. When he wasn't altogether certain he was responsible.

But he wasn't going to let that deter him from doing what was right. For now. For once. He hadn't done anything about his new title except resent it, but if being a duke meant he could change this girl's life for the better? But he knew damned well he couldn't do it alone.

And so he had found her a governess. A governess who snapped back a retort, which no one had dared to since even before he'd become a duke. A governess who had turned into stone when he asked about her references, whose cheeks had flushed when he spoke to her. A governess who wore a gown that the nicest thing one could say about it was that it was made of fabric.

A governess who had intrigued him right away. Made him ignore the missing references, the flush, the worn gown; made him want, instead, to see what color her cheeks would turn if he kissed her, if he discovered what curves lurked underneath her clothing. What she would say if he could get her to speak her mind all the time.

It was clear she had the goal of presenting herself as plainly as possible, but like an archeologist searching for a lost treasure in a pile of dirt, he
could discern the beauty underneath. And that intrigued him as well. Luxuriant hair, the color of the most delicious chocolate, was pulled back into a severe bun, but several strands had fallen out, giving her a seductively disheveled appearance. Her eyes were hazel, but changed color as her emotions changed. In the height of the pink-cheeked moment, for instance, her eyes had gotten darker, while when she saw her new charge, he would have sworn they turned almost golden.

And her figure—her waist was small and trim, and as for her breasts—

No, stop,
he reprimanded himself. What was he doing, waxing rhapsodic about his newest employee? She was here to instruct his charge. His
daughter
.

He was setting on a course of respectability, at least until he figured out what to do with his daughter. She deserved that care, at least.

Not to mention, the newest employee's demeanor was hardly that of a seductress, regardless of her disheveled hair or lush figure. More like when his prim-mouthed aunts had tried to temper his wild habits.

Clearly, he thought as he recalled what he'd done the night before, they hadn't succeeded very well.

Perhaps now that he was going to try to be a responsible parent, if just for a little while—not to mention a responsible employer, one who did not notice that the governess's eyes were the green of moss, the kind a woodland fairy might rest on—he might want to actually do something
about his residence. He hadn't really cared that much before. Just as long as there were adequate rooms for himself and whichever boon companions he'd found, that was sufficient. That it be warm and have seating seemed reasonable. But anything else? He hadn't bothered. He assumed there would be time enough for all of that when he was settled. If he settled.

Besides which, he kept hoping he could someday just return to roaming, not having to worry about what people thought about him or what responsibilities he had.

It was momentarily terrifying, then, that Rose's arrival meant he might have to lose those vagabond dreams forever.

And who would he be if he were just the duke?

At least his current excesses—those antithetical to a responsible parent—were limited to drinking and gambling and not nearly as much fornicating as before. He had occasional dalliances, but he'd found, in general, it was too much effort for too little reward to embark on affairs with society ladies. Two minutes and it was over, and then he'd have to make conversation. Not worth it.

The thought had crossed his mind that if it only lasted two minutes, perhaps he was doing it wrong, but he hadn't been intrigued enough by anyone to conduct any scientific experiments. Besides which, how embarrassing would it be if he was doing it wrong? When he got married—
if
he got married—it would be too late for his wife to complain. Plus he assumed she wouldn't know, either.

Although if he could practice, perhaps with someone he'd just met . . .

No. Absolutely not. Drinking and gambling suited him just fine.

With that thought in mind, he strode over to the cart where this room's brandy was kept. No glasses; he vaguely recalled coming in here the night before to retrieve more for him and his guests. He shrugged, and raised the bottle to his mouth.

At which point the door was flung open and his new rigidly proper governess walked in, her expression reserved.

She was not here to help him refine his amatory activities, then. Pity.

“Your Grace,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her, and then her expression changed to one of exasperation. “I was just—oh, for heaven's sake, just drink!”

Because he had frozen in mid-swallow, the bottle still tilted up, but his mouth had closed over the opening so no more liquid could travel down his throat.

At her words, he opened his mouth and the welcome burn of the spirit—unlike the unwelcome burn of his new employee's tone of voice—traveled down his gullet to nestle comfortably in his stomach.

He thought too late that drinking brandy straight from the bottle was probably not the habit of a respectable gentleman and father. Given that he'd only had a few hours being either, however, he thought he was doing rather well. Bottle-drinking notwithstanding.

He placed the now empty bottle down and looked more closely at her.

The severe hairstyle, the frown, the worn, ill-colored gown. No wonder she looked so glum.

He wondered what it would take to make her laugh. Or smile, even. A child needed laughter, did she not? He would just have to command her to laugh.

Which would probably go as well as when his aunts attempted to sober him up. Not in the way he needed it lately.

“Miss . . .” Damn, he'd forgotten her name.

“Lily,” she supplied. Lily, of course, his garden of girls. Although this one was most definitely a woman, he corrected himself.

“Lily,” he repeated. “What do you want?” He didn't mean to slip into his most arrogant tone of voice; if he were honest, he would have to admit that it just produced the quickest, easiest results. He wanted something, he announced his wants in that tone of voice, and usually within minutes he received it. That was true even before receiving his title. And being a duke meant never having to soften your tone.

Until now, at least.

“I am here, Your Grace,” she said tightly, “to speak with you about the child. About Rose.” When she said the girl's name, her voice softened. It seemed, actually, that her whole expression softened. He'd have thought about that more, about how she seemed to glow from the inside, just with saying the girl's name, but then he got distracted by—by her.

She was absolutely stunning when she wasn't looking as though she had just sucked on a lemon. And her figure really was lovely—shapely, but not excessive. As though there were secrets to discover underneath that drab gown, hidden curves and soft skin and unknown territory to explore.

But he had no business exploring his child's governess.

“What about Rose? You need to tell me if there is a problem with the—with my daughter.” As he spoke, he felt his chest tighten.
My daughter
. He'd only just met his child, had spent barely an hour with her, but he already knew how it felt not to be wanted, and no matter what, he didn't want that for her.

Miss Lily shook her head, her lips curling into a slight smile. “No, there is no problem with her, as you say. She is a lovely girl. I merely wished to discuss how you wished me to proceed.” A pause, then a more hesitant tone. “You said she has just arrived?”

They were both still standing. If they were to engage in any kind of lengthy conversation, he'd be damned if he'd conduct it standing up. With a servant, no less.

Although from what he knew about them, governesses inhabited an odd purgatory-like existence within a household—not lowly enough to be comfortable among the other servants, but certainly not part of the family.

Ah. No wonder Thompson had been even more rigid than usual. He needed to ensure the new governess knew her place. Thompson was likely
irked that his employer didn't seem to know—or even care about—his place. Both in terms of his physical living quarters and his position.

He really would have to get around to redecorating one of these days.

“Do sit down,” he said, gesturing to one of the chairs. He grabbed one that had fallen sideways and righted it, then straddled it backward. He'd found that was the most comfortable way to sit, the chairs being as uncomfortable as they were ugly.

The governess had no such option regarding the way she sat, of course, and lowered herself into the chair he'd indicated, smoothing her skirts and clasping her hands in her lap. At last, when it seemed she was settled to her liking, she looked up at him.

The directness with which she regarded him felt like she knew things about him, knew things he didn't even know. It felt prickly, like wearing a rough shirt, or attending church when one had no right to be there.

He hadn't done either thing in years, but he still recalled how it felt.

There was a long silence, until at last he realized it was his place to speak. In purgatory or not, no servant would begin a conversation when not specifically invited to. That road would lead straight to hell. Or unemployment.

“Have you had a chance to review what might be needed for her?” He made his tone as confident as he could, even though he was entirely unaccustomed to not knowing the answers. Or even to asking questions. This event, this arrival of a child
who was shorter than the top of the execrable escritoire, was going to irrevocably change him. For better or for worse remained to be seen.

“I assume, Your Grace, that since this is the first child you've had living here—it is, correct?” she asked, the slight promise of a frown flitting across her face, as though she worried he was in the habit of collecting stray children. “I assume that we will need everything. Will you need an itemized list?” She tilted her head and her eyes narrowed in thought. “There will be papers, and pens, and chalk, and—”

“Fine, fine,” Marcus said, interrupting. “Whatever you deem necessary. I don't need to hear the details. Just have the bills sent here.”

“You will wish to hear how she is progressing in her studies.” It was not a question, and he felt suddenly defensive. Because, of course, he hadn't thought about tracking her progress at all; if he were honest, he'd have to admit he hadn't thought about what would happen at all, beyond wanting to keep her there for the moment. To keep her safe, until he decided what was to be done with her.

And with him.

But keeping the child safe wasn't the same as keeping her well, a voice reminded him. His parents had kept him safe, but not well.

The governess was still gazing steadily at his face, and he realized she was waiting for a reply. Not that she had asked a question.

“A weekly report will be adequate.”

“I will report to you, and not to your wife?” That was a question, one thankfully he could answer.

“I am not married.”

“Oh.”

Was he imagining it, or did her expression relax a fraction? Did she think he would— No, of course not. Dukes did not marry governesses, and vice versa. Definitely not this governess and this duke.

Not that he wouldn't mind pretending they were married. For two minutes, at least.

But she was not looking at him in any kind of pretend married way at all, or even in the way he'd grown used to—as though he was a rare breed, or some sort of fascinating bizarre species. He understood those looks. There weren't very many dukes, after all, and many fewer of them weren't gray-haired and married and gouty.

She was just . . .
looking
. It was refreshing, but also disconcerting. He felt as though he should be explaining how a man such as he had been able to remain a bachelor. He wanted to tell her how it felt to see Rose arrive in his house, how he saw himself in her face. How he knew how it felt not to be wanted.

But she was his newest employee, not someone he needed to confide in, or impress, or do anything except pay and expect to do her job.

He took refuge in his most obnoxious tone of voice. “Since you neglected to bring references, Miss Lily, perhaps you could instead tell me of your last position.”

Had her expression been relaxed before? Now it was all tightened up again, as though someone were winding her face up like a clock, to spring it into action.