Her Proper Scoundrel (6 page)

Stomach churning in trepidation, she stepped across the threshold. The spacious room ran the entire width of the house. Mullioned windows filled one wall from floor to ceiling; the entire wall across from it was lined with a jumble of books and papers.

She spied Christopher at the far end, sitting with bent head at a massive mahogany desk. By the looks of things he worked on a book of accounts. Several ink-smeared maps were pinned on the wall behind him, mute evidence of his naval career, as was the black bicorne hanging on a peg beside the door.

Rooted to the spot, she watched him dip his quill into the pewter inkwell. The soft morning light spilled across his face, illuminating the creases lining his forehead and the laugh lines radiating from the corners of his eyes. His mouth was set in a slight moue of concentration and he scratched several figures before lifting his head to peer at her.

Her heart fluttered as he caught her gaze. Don’t be silly, she scolded herself. He was her pupil, nothing more.

 
“I trust you found breakfast to your satisfaction?” He laid aside the quill and leaned back to stretch.

“Yes, delicious, thank you.” She nodded. “The company lacked, however,” she added boldly.
  

He caught her meaning immediately and a dull flush colored his cheeks. “My habit is to eat early. I like a brisk walk in the morning as it clears my head of the cobwebs. I had no idea I needed your permission to do so.”

It was a pointed comment and now she flushed. It was not her place to criticize how he spent his mornings.

“This is quite a collection of books.” She changed the subject.

“They came with the house. I don’t know myself what is here. Please feel free to read them at your own pleasure.”

“Oh.” She swiveled her head to inspect the shelves. It was a generous offer and would help pass the evenings. She turned her head to face him again. “Thank you,” she replied. “I shall enjoy it.”

He regarded her in amusement. “A rather subdued response. You need not, if it does not appeal to you.” He leaned forward on his elbows and looked at her, sweeping her up and down with appreciative brown eyes.
 

She felt his stare as surely as if he had reached out and run his fingers over her arms. Alarm crept into her at the sensation yet she refused to let it overwhelm her. It was time to throw the first dart - that should wipe the satisfied expression from his face.

“Tell me, Mr. Sharrington, how does a gentleman not know the dance?” She made her voice sarcastic.

“My father saw fit to send me to sea at an early age. As a captain’s servant. I worked my way up to the captaincy of my own ship. Needless to say, it did not give me the time to engage in the more genteel aspects of life.”

His voice was mild. The question had not disturbed him in the slightest, leaving her feeling foolish for her uncivil manner.

“And your time at sea was enough to give you all this?” she blurted, sweeping her arm around to encompass the library. It really was none of her concern but it was the first question that had popped into her head.

“Yes. The spoils of captured enemy ships are divided amongst the crew.” He lifted an eye brow. “And you, Lady Woodsby? How come you to be governess? Particularly with your expectations.” His eyes mocked her.

She flushed again, knowing he referred once more to her acerbic comment regarding his absence at the breakfast table this morning. No matter a lady’s transgressions, a gentleman did not offend her, never mind twice in one conversation. He lacked much more in the way of the social graces than simply not knowing how to dance.

The task daunted her more by the minute.

And they hadn’t even set foot on the dance floor.

“To avoid an unwanted marriage,” she replied crisply. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he had rattled her. “My father wished to pawn me off to a merchant.” She shuddered as a vision of the vile Mr. Thomas Burrows rose in her mind. “I decided it would be more to my liking to become a governess. This is my first posting,” she added.

“Shall we begin?” His voice was suddenly brusque and he looked at her with fierce eyes. “The carpet has been removed.” He jumped to his feet and strode around the desk to stand in front of her.

His reaction startled her and she took a step back. Perhaps it had been unwise to disclose this was her first posting. Well, then, she would show him she could very capably handle her duties.
 

“There is no pianoforte.” She tipped her head back to look at him. Yes, she could teach him the steps but it would be difficult to put them all together without a musical instrument. “Do you not have a music room that would suit the purpose better?” She stammered over the last words for his looming proximity wiped all reason from her mind.

“No. I suggest you count very loudly, Lady Woodsby.”

She glared up at him at his ridicule. But no, his face was mild although merriment lurked in his eyes.

“Very well, Mr. Sharrington.” She lifted her hand. “Shall we begin?”

Christopher focused on her upraised hand then lifted his gaze to her expectant face. He had seen the tell tale shudder when she referred to the merchant her father had wanted her to marry. He could only assume all British aristocrats sneered down their noses at common men who made an honest living.

What would she think of him, Christopher, when she realized he intended to earn his living as a merchant captain himself? Would she snatch back her hand to look at him with the same disgust that had limned her face at the thought of the man her father had wanted her to marry?

Much to his surprise, he found he wanted her admiration. It made no sense, for within three months she would be gone so why the devil should he care what she thought of him?

But he did. Very much.

* * *

“I warned you, did I not, Mr. Sharrington? The finer arts are not so easy to master. Now once again from the beginning.”

Christopher groaned. “And what is it I have done incorrectly this time?”

He ran his fingers through his hair. It was his fifth morning of lessons in the library and the lovely Lady Josceline Woodsby was proving to be a stern task master in all matters related to dance. And this was only the Contredanse. How many more were there to master? He groaned again.

He was beginning to doubt the wisdom of seeking her instruction. First, his feet hurt like the very devil. Second, he had no capabilities whatsoever of keeping any semblance of a rhythm. And third, and most disturbing, he was not entirely immune to the charms of the green-eyed, russet-haired young woman standing before him.

A young woman who would find him repugnant when she found out how he meant to earn his living and the loathsome secret forcing him to do so.

Somehow, the whole exercise had become a test of endurance.

She spoke and he, barely listening, focused his gaze on her lovely mouth, watching in fascination as sumptuous lips flickered over pearly teeth.

“You are holding your hand like a rag doll. You are the man and you must lead your partner firmly so she knows where she is going,” she commanded. “Like guiding a horse.”

“Enough for today,” he sighed, dragging his gaze away from her delectable mouth. “Pity the poor student.”

Damnation, he had reached a point that he awoke in the middle of the night counting and trying to remember the steps. Anything to coax a smile from her.

She cocked her head and gazed at him unsympathetically. “Hardly poor, I should think. It’s a matter of concentration and practice. After one reaches a certain level of competence, it becomes an enjoyable pastime.”

Christopher doubted that sincerely.

“Be that as it may, I’ve had quite enough for today.” He put on his jacket. “I have several urgent matters to attend to.”

Thankfully she accepted his explanation without question.

“Shall I see you at tea?” Her cheeks were flushed with exertion and she fanned herself with one hand.

With a perverse sense of satisfaction, he noted she had found today’s lessons demanding as well. He assured himself the short lesson benefited Lady Josceline only and had nothing to do with his aching feet and yes, aching loins. To put it simply, he was doing the gentlemanly thing by acceding to her lesser physical prowess.

At his nod, she inclined her chin then turned and swished away. Her dress rippled with the sway of her hips and he found he couldn’t tear his gaze away, even tiptoeing to the library door to watch her step down the hall. A glimpse of a trim ankle rewarded him.

She disappeared from sight and he sagged against the door jamb. Frankly, he didn’t like the way his heart beat faster when he caught her fragrance – violets and a hint of sandalwood, as far as he could tell - or when she beamed at him in approval for a figure well executed.

He needed that handkerchief and he needed it now or he was sure to turn into a raging madman.

He had inspected her sleeves every day in search of a tell tale bulge but had seen nothing. She must have hidden it somewhere. The next time she went out to take some air, he would search her room.

When he found it, he could send her on her way. Of course he wouldn’t leave her destitute. He would pay her enough to assuage his guilty conscience.

Besides, the whole business had diverted him from gaining the debt owed him by that rogue Lord Candel.

Yes, the sooner he located the handkerchief, the better.

* * *

Josceline knew Christopher watched her as she walked away – his eyes burned a hole in her back. She held up her head and shoulders until she turned the corner at the far end of the hall then let her shoulders slump, dropping her chin to feel the pull against the tension in her neck and upper back. Slowly she rolled her head from side to side, circling her shoulders until the stiff ache disappeared.

It was just as well the lesson had been cut short today. If it had gone on much longer, she would have collapsed, skirts and all, into a puddled heap on the floor.

As she had feared, the dance lessons were taking their toll on her. Every brush of his hand, every graze of his shoulder, every glance caught with hers, set her gasping for breath and her heart to pounding.

To be sure, she put on a brave face, giving him encouragement and praise when it was due but it was becoming more and more difficult to instruct the man when other distractions kept arising.

Like his easy smile. And his hearty laugh. And the way his brows quirked in disbelief when she showed him a new step as if to say, “You are in jest, are you not?”

Josceline sighed. What had she agreed to? It had been, what, five days? And already she was reduced to a quivering lump inside. What state would she be in by next week? Next month? How long had she agreed to stay? Three months? It seemed forever.

“Josceline, whatever possessed you to consent to this mad scheme?” She leaned against the wall and cradled her head against the palm of her hand. “What have you done?”

No matter the toll on her, she couldn’t see her way clear to leave immediately. She had no choice but to fulfill her pledge if she had any hope of acquiring the wherewithal to find another position. When she left, she would give him the handkerchief so as to have nothing to remind her of him.
 

A walk, she decided. A walk would be just the thing to settle her unruly thoughts. She stood there for a few moments, waiting until her knees stopped trembling then marched up to her room to get her cloak before making her way to the slatted bench she’d found several days ago. Grey with age, the bench sagged against a brick wall at the far end of the garden in a sunny, sheltered spot. When the days warmed a little and leaves began to bud it would be a lovely locale for Christopher’s water color lessons. They had not begun those as the supplies had yet to arrive from London.

Josceline dropped onto the bench then tilted her face to the sky and closed her eyes. Sparrows twittered beside her and the sun warmed her cheeks. She opened her eyes and a hawk floated high above, a circling black speck. Her eyes followed its path, a path she fancied traced the letter “E”. Elizabeth.

It reminded her she must write to her friend and tell her all is well. Lady Oakland had said she would inform Elizabeth’s mother that Josceline had found a position but one never knew if Elizabeth had received the news.

She must write her father as well but not yet.

A single tear rolled its lonely way down her cheeks to disappear into the fur lining her cloak.

Her father. How he had loved Amelia, her mother. And when her mother died, she could understand the sorrow that had gradually consumed him, turning him into a pathetic semblance of a man. It was as if he had lost the will to live. No matter how he tried to numb his senses with drink and gambling, he was doomed to live without his true love. Amelia.

It was Josceline’s middle name and as a girl she loved to recite the two together. Josceline Amelia.

Nonetheless for all his sorrow, she could not forgive him for trying to sell her to the highest bidder. He did not seem to understand she wanted the same thing he had shared with her mother. Now, as a governess no one would offer for her, putting marriage out of reach. The bitter irony was that was exactly what she had told Elizabeth she wanted.