Born to Scandal

Qualifications? Ha!

He touched her shoulder, rubbing his finger lightly over the cloth of her pelisse. ‘You do not dress like a governess.’

She pulled her shoulder away. ‘I do not know who you think I am, sir, but I have come to enquire about the position of governess. I concede I do not yet have the wardrobe of a governess.’ Her lovely blue eyes flashed with fleeting pain. ‘My clothes are provided by Lady Charlotte, for whom I act as companion.’

He shook his head in confusion. ‘Lady Charlotte?’

She lowered her gaze. ‘Earl Lawton’s daughter.’

That’s who it was! Brent felt like slapping his forehead. Lord Lawton had set up this interview. Good God. This was the governess.

It was her turn to look confused. ‘Did Lord Lawton not explain my situation?’

Brent had consumed a lot of brandy that night. He did not remember much of what Lawton explained, only that there was a governess when he needed one.

‘You tell me, Miss Hill.’ He pushed the door shut and stepped back a more respectable distance.

She averted her gaze. ‘I have been Lady Charlotte’s companion. Now that she is launched in society, my services are no longer needed.’

He turned sceptical again. ‘Companion, Miss Hill? You look as if you just stepped out of the schoolroom and are in need of a chaperone yourself.’

Her chin rose. ‘I was Lady Charlotte’s companion, not her chaperone. I—I’ve been her companion since we were children. The situation was …’ she paused as if searching for the right words ‘… unusual.’

He folded his arms across his chest. ‘Explain it to me.’

Her eyes sparked with annoyance, but she also looked on her guard. ‘I was raised with Lady Charlotte. She was an only child and extremely timid. She needed a companion. To take the place of an older sister, so to speak.’ She locked her gaze with his. ‘I also must tell you that I was—am—the daughter of Lord Lawton’s servants. My mother is a laundress and my father a groom.’

Brent shrugged. His lineage was nearly as undesirable. His mother had been as poor as an Irish woman could be. Brent had spent his early years on his Irish grandfather’s tenant farm in Culleen.

Until his English grandfather took him away. An uncle he’d not known existed died and suddenly Brent was heir to a title he’d known nothing of and sent to a land he’d considered the enemy’s.

‘I was raised as a lady,’ Miss Hill went on. ‘I studied the same lessons as Lady Charlotte. Learned everything she learned.’ She reached in the pocket of her pelisse and withdrew a paper. She handed it to him. ‘I have written it out.’

His fingers grazed hers as he took the paper. He noticed that her glove was carefully mended.

He pretended to read, then glanced back at her. His bare fingers still registered the soft texture of her glove. ‘My apologies, Miss Hill.’

She straightened her spine, as imperious as a lady patroness of Almack’s.

Her neck, so erect and slim, begged for his fingers to measure its length. In fact, his fingers wished to continue lower to the swell of her breasts—

‘Why do you regard me so?’ Her voice quivered slightly.

Good God, he’d been contemplating seduction.

Why did this beauty wish to bury herself in the thankless job of governess? Surely she knew the perils that befell a young woman in the employ of the wealthy and privileged. A governess had neither the protection of the other servants, nor that of society. She would be prey for any man who wished to seduce her.

He shut his eyes and turned to the bookshelves, fingering the bindings. ‘My apologies once more, Miss Hill. I fail to understand how a young woman of your—’ he turned back to her, involuntarily flicking another full-length gaze ‘—particular disposition would seek the position of governess.’

Her eyebrows rose in a look of superiority. ‘Do you doubt my ability to perform the task?’

He admired her bravery much more than was prudent. ‘You are very young.’

Seating himself on a chair by the library window, he stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankle.

Her chin lifted again. ‘My youth is an asset, Lord Brentmore.’

He frowned. ‘Precisely how old are you?’

She pursed her lips. ‘I am twenty.’

‘So old as that.’ He spoke with sarcasm.

She took a step towards him. ‘My youth shall lend energy to the education of my charges.’

He tapped on the arm of the chair. The previous governess had been ancient. Retaining her had been a terrible error. Would hiring one so young also be a mistake?

‘I shall understand the children better,’ she went on. ‘I well recall the mischief of young children.’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘I do not need a governess who would join them in mischief.’

‘I would not!’ His insinuation obviously irritated her. ‘I am a most sober young lady.’

He stood and moved close to her again, close enough for his skin to warm from the proximity.

‘Tell me more, Miss Hill.’ His voice turned low.

She backed away, her hand fluttering to her hair, trying to brush a tendril off her cheek. ‘I know I am not a lady, precisely, but I was trained in the same way. I received every advantage….’ Her voice trailed off.

Curse him. He needed to keep his distance.

She took another breath. ‘There is another reason to engage me, sir.’

‘Pray tell,’ he said.

She looked him in the eye. ‘I have an acute appreciation of learning, my lord. My unique situation—that of one who would never otherwise be so educated—makes me appreciate the advantage. It has opened the world to me.’ She swept her arm towards the walls covered with leather-bound books. ‘I would show your children the world.’

For the first time, her face filled with sincere pleasure. It touched something deep within him, something he needed to keep buried. ‘You would create a bluestocking.’

‘Indeed not,’ she snapped. ‘I would create a lady.’ She pointed to the paper she’d handed him. ‘I learned all the feminine arts. Stitchery, water-colours, the pianoforte. Manners and comportment and dancing, as well.’ She jabbed her finger at her list. ‘I also have skills in mathematics and Latin, so I am well able to help prepare a boy for Eton …’ Her voice trailed off as if she feared she’d said too much. Her eyes pleaded. ‘I would please you, my lord. I am certain I would.’

He forced his gaze downwards, as hungry as a starving man for some of that youthful passion. Lawd. He was only thirty-three, but, at this moment, he felt like Methuselah.

The children deserved a proper education. A proper upbringing. He tapped a finger against his leg.

More than that, his children deserved some joy. The children were innocents, even if they embodied all his failures and mistakes. Let this governess—this breath of spring air—be a gift to them.

What’s more, she would be in a household where no man would take advantage of her. It was not as if he would be tempted. He hated Brentmore Hall and spent as little time there as possible.