The Duke's Guide to Correct Behavior (8 page)

“D
on't wanna go.” Rose lifted her face, with its peeved expression, to Lily.

“I do not want to go,” she corrected her, then caught herself at Rose's satisfied look. “That is, I am not saying you can stay here, but the proper way to say what you just said is ‘I do not want to go.'”

“I do not want to go,” Rose repeated, raising her chin in an unmistakable look of defiance. Lily tried not to laugh at how much her charge resembled her father at that moment. “I want to stay here with Mr. Snuffles and Maggie. We're having a tea party. With scones!” she added, as though that should be enough to convince Lily of the wisdom of her plans.

It did sound like fun. Much less disturbing, at least, than heading out on a shopping expedition with the duke to purchase clothing for both the new females in his household. And with more scones.

Rose must have seen how she was on the verge of relenting, since she put her sweetest smile on as
she blinked her enormous eyes. “Please?” she said in a pleading voice.

“We shall consult the duke.”

“He'll say yes,” Rose said confidently. And likely he would, since he'd already said he had no experience with young children, and the prospect of taking a reluctant child out for several hours was enough to make even experienced caregivers blanch.

“We will see,” is all Lily replied.

When he was presented with the issue by Rose, the duke shrugged. “If you don't wish to go,” he'd said, “you don't have to. But you will have to trust that Miss Lily and I will choose the best things for you.”

Of course he said yes. Because of course then Lily would have to spend time with him, alone, as he bought her clothing.

Rose nodded, engrossed in attempting to feed a kipper to Maggie. It was not going well.

He looked over at Lily, and she saw a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. As though he knew full well just what the prospect of them being alone together was doing to her. “Well, then, shall we say we will depart in half an hour?”

She kept her face as expressionless as she could. “Of course, Your Grace. I'll just ask one of the maids to stay with Miss Rose, if that is acceptable.”

He waved a hand as though he couldn't care less. “Certainly. Whatever is best.”

What would be best, she wanted to reply, is if he would not continue to unsettle her so. But that might be better said to herself.

After ensuring that Rose was safely ensconced with Maggie, Mr. Snuffles, Etta, and the orange cat Lily had seen the previous evening with the duke—whom Rose had named Orange—Lily met the duke in the foyer, where one of the footmen was waiting with her cloak. It looked even shabbier in the context of the duke's mansion. No wonder he thought she shopped at Dowdy and Daughters.

“There you are. Come along.” The duke's tone was abrupt, and he strode to the door ahead of her. Well. He certainly was not the Duke of Politeness, that was for certain.

She trailed after him, unable to keep pace with his long-legged stride. Hopefully he would wait a moment before telling his coachman to go, so she had time to get in.

She was practically running down the steps to the carriage when she saw an arm extended from its depths. His, of course. Even his
arm
had an unmistakable aura of autocracy. She took his hand and got into the coach, sitting opposite him, so she was riding with her back to the horses.

It was darker than outside, and her eyes took a moment to adjust, but her ears had no such delay. “Sit next to me,” he said, his voice equal parts boredom and command.

“Why— Oh, fine,” Lily said in a frigid tone of voice as she crossed over.

His only response was a chuckle.

“Our first stop is the dressmaker's.”

“There will be more than one stop?” she replied, wincing as she heard how her voice squeaked.
“That is, of course we can go wherever you wish, but I hadn't expected to be out for so long.”

“Your charge will be fine. I appreciate your conscientiousness, but it seems to me that Rose needs time to adjust to her new situation, and she seemed quite delighted at the prospect of being with the cats and the doll.”

“Where are we to go, then?”

She felt him shrug. “You said you needed some supplies for Rose, and I thought we could take care of it now. Plus, since we'll be out for a bit, I thought we would get lunch.”

“Lunch? Together? That is hardly—”

“Proper?” he interrupted, his voice full of an emotion she couldn't name. “Look here, I am willing to forego all sorts of things in the name of propriety, but I will not be told I cannot dine in public with my child's governess.” There was a pause, and then he spoke again, this time much less passionately. “I apologize. You don't deserve my ire.”

“It is not my place to pass judgment, Your Grace.” She gazed out the window as though anything outside were more interesting than what was within. Which it absolutely was not.

“And now you're reminding me you are merely a servant.” He exhaled. “Cannot we agree we have at least one thing in common, and that is wishing for Rose to receive the best possible care?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” she said in a repressive tone.

“And for goodness' sake, don't call me ‘Your Grace' each and every time you speak to me. It's aggravating.”

“What should I call you, then?” she asked. “Mr. Snuffles is already taken, and I hardly think you wish to be called ‘Orange.'”

He laughed in response, and she felt that low chuckle resonate through her body. That he was this . . . improper when it came to being a lord—a duke, no less—was dangerous. Truly a Dangerous Duke, in that he was not very dukely at all, unless one counted the power, the money, the position, the air of command, and the many rooms.

Not that she was counting.

“Just leave off the ‘Your Grace' two sentences out of three,” he said, laughter in his voice. “I know you are cognizant of who I am, and I hope I am not so stupid as to be unaware that you are speaking to me, so we can dispense with so much propriety.”

Now that thought definitely kindled something low in her belly. Dispensing with propriety seemed like a very . . . dangerous thing to do.

“Yes, Your— That is, fine.”

“Excellent. Glad to have that settled.” A pause. “Although if you wish to address me as ‘Orange,' that would be acceptable.” Now he was definitely teasing her. The worst part? She felt like teasing him back.

But she couldn't, not without risking things that should not be risked, such as her heart, her position, and oh, yes, her future.

H
e didn't think he'd ever had so much fun, at least not such proper fun. She was, in fact, about
as proper as he could wish for, which was why he took such glee in riling her.

He couldn't let it go any further, but this—this was delightful, an entirely unexpected benefit to his having an illegitimate child, a need to be proper, and for his child to have a governess.

The carriage rolled to a stop at the dressmaker's, and the governess in question practically flew out of the coach, the rigid set of her shoulders indicating her displeasure with him and the situation in general, he presumed.

He just wanted to laugh again.

His footman opened the door and they walked in, the proprietor's face changing within seconds to disapproving—having seen Miss Lily first—to fawning, when he followed.

“May I be of service, my lord?” The proprietor was a middle-aged, not unattractive woman. She was wearing attractive fashionable clothing, a far cry from what Miss Lily had on.

“We need clothing for this lady, here,” he said, gesturing to Lily.

And when had he started thinking of her as Lily, anyway? Oh, somewhere between thinking about what Miss Lily had on and indicating who she was. So right now.

The woman's face froze and her mouth pursed. “I am not certain, my lord, that my establishment is appropriate for what you are seeking.”

“I am the Duke of Rutherford's governess, and he requires me to be gowned appropriately.” Lily's voice was low and polite, the complete opposite of how Marcus wished to address the shop owner.

The woman's face cleared. “Ah, of course, Your Grace,” she said, her tone changing to one of obsequiousness. “I have the very items. One of my patrons had a change of heart regarding her clothing, so as it happens I have some ready-made that will need only a few adjustments to fit the lady here.”

“She will have new,” Marcus began with a growl, only to be interrupted by Lily. Again.

“That will suit admirably, how fortuitous that you have them.”

The woman glanced between them, clearly caught as to what to do. Marcus crossed his arms over his chest. “As she said, go ahead and fetch the clothing.”

“Yes, of course, Your Grace.” She went to the back of the shop, casting a quick look of awe behind her.

He hated those looks of awe. Far better to be regarded with an emotion not inspired by his title. And he knew the difference; until recently he'd been regarded with a much more varied range of looks.

Like the one with which his governess was now looking at him. “Why aren't you pleased?” he asked her. “I allowed you to have your way.”

She uttered the most ladylike snort he'd ever heard. Not that he'd heard that many, honestly—most ladies did not snort. Especially in the presence of dukes.

He liked it.

“My way would be for you not to purchase clothing for me at all. It is not proper,” she began,
then her eyes widened as she realized what she'd said.

“Not proper,” he repeated, moving closer to where she stood. “Not proper can encompass many things, Miss Lily. Would you like me to list them all for you?” Now he was within a few feet of her, a few delicious feet of her, but she stood her ground, not edging backward as he'd expected.

He liked this, too.

“There is no need, Your Grace,” she replied through clenched teeth.

He advanced on her, not quite sure what he was about to do, but the shop's proprietor bustled back in with several items of clothing looped over her arm.

“These are the things, Your Grace, and of course I have bonnets and gloves and shawls and all the other necessary accessories to dress a young lady properly.”

“Properly, hm?” Marcus echoed, knowing he was making her squirm.

“A
dmit it,” he said when they were finished at the dressmaker's, “it wasn't that terrible. And now you are properly outfitted as a governess.”

Lily smoothed the folds of her new gown. Mrs. Wilson had been able to make the necessary alterations while she and the duke chose clothing for Rose, and then he'd insisted that she change immediately.

It was nicer than anything she had ever owned. Green, with simple embroidery on the front and a
not too wide skirt or sleeves looked like balloons. She hated those.

Entirely respectable, Mrs. Wilson had assured them, with a nervous glance at the duke, and she had to admit that it looked lovely on her.

She felt lovely in it as well. No, more than that, she felt
beautiful
, which she hadn't ever really felt before. Certainly she knew she wasn't horrible to look at, but seeing herself in the glass at Mrs. Wilson's shop made her breath catch. The gown fit well, highlighting her bosom and her small waist, and the color made her eyes seem almost emerald.

“And now you are a proper companion to Rose,” he continued, startling her out of her self-assessment. “I would not have it said the Duke of Rutherford does not have proper employees.” His tone of voice indicated he was teasing, although his words made Lily's breath catch again, but this time not in a pleasant way.

She was not proper, not at all. She had worked at a brothel and she was the owner of a small, struggling business that aided other unfortunate women. Women whose lives would be irreparably damaged if she failed.

Perhaps she should be worried less about his propriety than her own. She would have to behave as properly as possible, so as not to give anybody reason to talk.

He held his arm out for her. “I am taking you to Verey's for lunch, it is a respectable—proper, even—restaurant.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him when he glowered.
That would just be rude. Even though she wanted to. “You said every third time, and I have been counting. I will not say it again for a while.”

He did not respond to that, for which she was grateful. “We will purchase what you need for Rose's schooling after we eat. I, for one, am famished.”

The restaurant was entirely respectable, and once the host realized just who was dining, they were served with the utmost in proper service.

Lily had only ever eaten at pubs before, since arriving in London. In the country, her father had prided himself on serving the best table in fifty miles, but that wasn't saying very much. In those days, she had been acutely aware of just how much each meal was costing them from their ever dwindling funds. Until there was nothing at all.

This was the first time, then, that she'd had good food that didn't make her feel guilty. The duke ordered for both of them, of course, not even deigning to ask her what she liked to eat. And she loved every bite, from the tender roast chicken to the new potatoes to the littlest peas she'd ever seen.

“This is delicious. Thank you.” She took a sip of wine, another first time for her—she'd only ever had tea at lunch. It felt decadent, and absolutely right to be here with him as she did it.

“You are welcome. Thank you.” He leaned back in his chair and gazed at her. “I am grateful to have your expertise in dealing with Rose.” He cleared his throat and glanced somewhere over her head. “My own upbringing is not a useful guide for a young girl.”

He sounded almost wistful. As though being the heir to a dukedom—provided he wasn't a duke already—was a hardship.