Loe raamatut: «The Lady's Bargain»

The Lady’s Bargain

Posing as a governess should have been a simple matter, but when Lady Christine Claybourne altered her name and appearance to match her new station, she hadn’t counted on the childish whims of Miss Ellie Preston. Fingers clamped tightly to the rough bark of the tree she currently found herself stuck in, Christine closed her eyes and listened to the incessant pounding of her heart.

“I’ll be back, Miss Archer,” called the mischievous voice from below. “Don’t go off!”

Humor from a ten-year-old was not what Christine needed right now. Especially since that ten-year-old was responsible for her present predicament.

She sucked in a deep, courageous breath and slit her eyes open, forcing herself to look at the ground below. It didn’t seem that far as she was climbing, or maybe it was just the motivation to reach her pupil who claimed being stuck. When, in fact, Miss Ellie Preston could easily climb up and down this large, ancient oak.

“Help is here!” the girl yelled.

Her stomach already in knots, Christine slowly took a full glimpse of the figures at the bottom of the tree. Next to her rotten pupil was a man with a ladder. He leaned it against the trunk, and Christine’s heart sank when the top rung came to a rest several feet short of her perch. The man said something to Ellie. She nodded and ran off while the man climbed not the ladder but the tree.

He scaled the oak without effort. His lean, muscular legs and powerful arms pushed off the trunk and branches with masculine ease, stirring a long forgotten tickle in her belly. His yellow curls caught the sunlight and shimmered with golden highlights. Christine assumed he was tall, certainly more than her, for he reached branches without any of the stretching she had to do.

Finally, just before reaching her, he stopped and looked up. Her breath caught at the hard angles of his face. Pale gray eyes, rimmed with dark lashes, rested above high cheekbones. A slight dimple in his chin softened a strong jaw.

“Good afternoon.” A deep voice shimmered over the words, quickening her pulse. “You must be Ellie’s new governess.”

Dressed casually, this man might have been a gardener or someone from the village. But something in his demeanor, his speech, led her to believe he was of a much higher station. Someone who could prove most dangerous to her.

“How do you know that?”

He scratched his chin. “Well, let’s see you are the fourth one in two years. And every one of them has left after she sent them up this tree.”

Christine groaned. It wasn’t bad enough that she was stuck way up in this tree, but that she had been as gullible as the others before her. Well, she wouldn’t dare leave because of this trick.

The curl of his lips hinted at a devilish rake. “Mind if I join you?”

Before she could answer, he swung himself up on her branch and sat, causing it to bounce with his weight. Ice washed through her blood. Instinctively she clutched his leg.

A large, warm hand settled over hers. Sparkles tingled up her arm. What was the matter with her? It had been years since a man affected her this way.

“It won’t break. I promise you.”

She swallowed both her fear and her wantonness and looked from their hands to his face. “Haven’t you come to collect me?”

He nodded.

“Why…why are you sitting here with me then?”

“Getting to know you.” His eyes danced.

“My name is Miss Archer. I am the governess for Miss Ellen Preston, third daughter of the Earl of Remington.” She sighed. “Now may we get down?”

He ignored her question. “Have you a first name, Miss Archer?”

Even a recluse like her knew the rules of society. He was either trying to be rude or he was flirting with her. “I have,” she answered.

“Is that your name? I have? It sounds Scandinavian or maybe German.”

She wanted to be annoyed at him, teasing her while she was frightened for her life. But his charming grin and sparkling eyes disarmed her. “Victoria,” she said the name she’d given herself six weeks ago.

“Our queen.” Skepticism colored the words.

A tremor of concern flickered in her chest. “Yes. And my name. Victoria Archer. Are you satisfied? Now can we get down?”

“You don’t look at all like Queen Victoria.” His gaze took a slow sweep of her, dragging down her loose fitting bodice and back up again. “No. Victoria doesn’t suit you.”

Her body burned at his glances. Heat gathered between his legs. Oh, Lord, she’d denied herself for too long. She sucked in her breath, but it only made her aware of his heady masculine scent.

“I−I believe you should be referring to me as Miss Archer. My Christian name is quite irrelevant.”

Those gray eyes of his stared at her, then suddenly shifted away. He appeared to struggle with himself, debating whether or not to say something. But the smile returned to his face and he said, “I’ve always liked to break the rules.”

Christine swallowed, somewhat unnerved by his admission. She wanted to ask who he was, what his name was, why he didn’t introduce himself. But she couldn’t find the right words.

A breeze gusted up the branches, rustling the leaves and lifting his hair. An urge bubbled inside her to brush her fingertips along the hard planes of his face, down the skin of his strong forearms. Something about him mesmerized her, captivated her. He could be her downfall if she wasn’t careful.

“Why aren’t we getting down?” she asked, changing the subject.

“See that ladder?” He pointed to it. “I need two men to come and hold it still.”

Christine gripped the tree tightly. “How are we going to get from here to the ladder?”

“I’ll carry you.”

“Carry me?” Her heart resumed its frantic shuddering. But she now wondered if it were from being so close to him rather than fear. “How?”

He lifted one shoulder, his sly grin returning. “I’ll throw you over my shoulder, of course.”

“Shoulder?” she echoed. She licked her lips and glanced down at the grass. The distance made her gasp. It was so far to drop. And yet, being so close to his body, held in his power…

She’d been a recluse far too long.

Thick fingers tipped her chin toward him. A shiver spread through her breasts, making them ache. “Is it the height or the fall that frightens you?”

“Both,” she answered. “What frightens you?”

He raised his eyebrows. “I have yet to find it.”

“Nothing?” She tilted her head. “Thunderstorms? Darkness? Snakes?” He shook his head as she persisted. “Loneliness?”

His fingertip traced her jaw, and Christine’s eyes closed on their own volition. “Are you frightened of being lonely, Miss Archer?” His words were a whisper. He leaned toward her so that she could hear his breathing, smell the mingling of sweat and cologne.

In an instant, a tingle raced through her and her breathing turned shallow. He was close. So close. She wanted him to kiss her. God, yes, please.

Fire blazed in her bloodstream, wetness dampened her thighs. She wanted him. Perhaps it would be better if he were the gardener. She could assuage this ache without getting herself into trouble.

Suddenly there was only emptiness as his hand moved away from her face. “Open your eyes, Miss Archer. I’m not going to kiss you.”

The flush of embarrassment that swept through her quickly turned to anger. How dare he tease her this way? The rake! Her eyes flashed open, and she glared at his charming, smiling face.

“Not yet, anyway.”

Her gaze sharpened on him. “What does that mean?”

Raising an eyebrow, he swung his legs. The branch danced with his movements. “I know who you are and it is not a governess named Victoria.”

A gasp escaped her lips. A mistake. Now she could not deny it. “Who am I then?” she whispered.

With a wink, he slid closer. The heat from his body washed over her, teasing her. “Lady Claybourne, of course. The woman who was supposed to marry my brother.”

* * *

Even if she tried to deny it, William Preston, Lord Kingston, could read the shock on her face. Damn, he loved it when he was right.

It had taken him only a few minutes to see through her disguise. She was no shy governess. She was a lady on the run.

On his brother’s last visit, John told him about the elusive bride. She had distinctive auburn hair and eyes the color of jade. His brother described her perfectly, though he had not seen her face.

No, in fact, he’d signed the marriage contract sight unseen. It was only at a costume party that he glimpsed his masked bride-to-be. The same party from which Lady Claybourne had slipped away and disappeared. William guessed it was the only thing she could do to avoid the marriage.

“Do you deny you are Lady Claybourne?”

Her lovely green eyes blinked. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. How did you know?”

“I make it my business to know my brother’s business.”

Those slender fingers gripped the tree firmly. “What are you going to do with this knowledge?”

William shrugged. “How badly do you want it kept secret?”

A blush colored her cheeks. Damn, was it charming. He wanted to brush his lips across the vibrant marks, lick her neck until she was red for an entirely different reason.

“Do you know why I want to remain unwed?”

Two servants descended the hill toward them. “You are a recluse. There were damaging rumors about your London Season. You never left your home after you returned in shame.”

Succulent red lips twitched. “How do you know I was shamed?”

William laughed. He liked her more and more. “My brother isn’t a cruel man. You might learn to love him.”

“I do not want to love him. I want to return home. To the land and house that should be mine. It belongs to me, not to some man who claims my hand in marriage.”

“Oh? Then why does your uncle wish to wed you off?”

She sighed. “I can only claim the property if I am not married by my twenty-seventh birthday, when I would be a certain spinster. He wants a share in something on the property which men covet.”

His gaze swept over her again. Though the governess dress fit loosely, it could not hide the ravishing beauty of the woman underneath. Her skin glowed with sweat, auburn hair trailed down her neck. He could imagine her in bed, how she would twist beneath him and arch her back to take him in. He’d thrust his lips against her throat, dig his fingers into her glorious those thick tresses.

Within seconds, he was hard.

William cleared his throat. “How close are you to twenty-seven?”

“One month.”

“In one month you can return and claim your inheritance?”

“Only if I am unmarried.” She glanced to the base of the tree.