Page 8 of The Virgin Who Humbled Lord Haslemere
It was strangely refreshing, even…dare he say titillating?
Given how few ladies bothered to scold him these days, there was a certain novelty to it, and this Miss Harley was magnificent at scolding. He’d always had a bit of a weakness for a lady with a tart tongue, and she had a mouthful of rhubarb, without the sugar syrup.
“Are you their governess?” She had a governess-ish air about her that put Benedict in mind of Miss Vexington, who’d been his sister Jane’s governess for years. It was an unfortunate name for a governess, really, but he’d always liked Miss Vexington. She’d been a decent lady, if a trifle starchy.
Miss Harley turned to face him again, her lips pressed into a tight, forbidding line. “Youwouldthink that.”
Benedict blinked, taken aback. He hadn’t meant the question as an insult, but her quills were quivering like an outraged porcupine. “I would? What does that mean?”
“Never mind.” She turned away with a little shake of her head. “It doesn’t matter. Comealong, girls.”
“Wait, Miss Harley. What’s wrong with governesses?” Benedict didn’t give a bloody damn about governesses, but he didn’t want her to leave yet.
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Not a thing. The fault isn’t with the governesses.”
Benedict did his best to look affronted. “You mean to say the fault lies with me? You can’t simply stroll off into the dark after so viciously maligning my character, madam. I demand to knowyour meaning.”
“Very well, Lord Haslemere, since you insist upon it.” Miss Harley turned back to him with a huff. “You seem to me to be the sort of gentlemen who sees every lady as either a potential mistress, or a governess—”
“That’s absurd, Miss Harley. Sometimes they’re housemaids, or nursemaids.” Benedict waited for another lashing from that acid tongue, but the only sound that emerged from her lips was a peculiar click, rather like…
Teeth snapping together.
“Those ladies who don’t excite your amorous inclinations must be—”
“My amorous inclinations?” Benedict choked back a laugh. “Is that the same thing as my—”
“Those ladies who don’t excite your amorous inclinations,” she repeated stubbornly, “must inevitably be governesses.”
He cocked his head to the side, studying her. She wasn’t fashionable, nor was she a conventional beauty, yet there was something tempting about her all the same. Perhaps it was only that she was so contained, so composed. The urge to rattle her—to pull out her pins and loosen her buttons—was maddening.
So, as he did with most temptations, Benedict gave into it. “Why should you think I wouldn’t want to make you my mistress?”
Her mouth fell open. “I…that’s not…I never…”
Benedict couldn’t suppress his grin as she fumbled and stammered, bright red color rushing into her cheeks. Oh, she was a cross little thing, to be sure, but that blushwas delicious.
I do believe my amorous inclinations have been aroused.
No one was more surprised at it than he. She wasn’t at all in his style. With her hair scraped back from her face and that ridiculous cloak buttoned all the way to her chin she looked like a shorn sheep, but the few tendrils of her hair that had come loose from her hat were a pretty, chestnut color, and she had a distracting pair of darkly lashed…brown eyes? Were they brown or green? He squinted at her, trying to decide.
Yes, brown would do. They were closer to it than green, at any rate.
She noticed his perusal, and her lips pinched into a scowl. “Do you take anything seriously, Lord Haslemere?”
The grin on Benedict’s lips widened. “Not if I can help it. Do you take everythingtooseriously, Miss Harley?”
Her chin rose into the air. “For pity’s sake, why should it matter to you whether I’m their governess or not?”
“Well, of course it matters. What sort of gentleman would let these little girls wander off into the night with a stranger?”
“Oh, Miss Harley isn’t a stranger, she’s one of our teachersat the Cliff—”
“Never mind, Sarah.” Miss Harley snatched up the girls’ hands again, and without another glance at Benedict began marching back up the hill toward Henrietta Street.
“Wait!” Benedict stepped after them. “It’s late. Won’t you allow me to see you home in my carriage?”
“No, thank you. That won’tbe necessary.”
