“I had not taken you for a coward, Miss Governess, but I can see I was wrong,” he called after her, his words and his husky baritone both a taunt.
A gauntlet.
Jacinda whirled about, picked it up. She was not a coward, and nor was she a spiritless miss who would cower when presented with a challenge. “I shall grant you one quarter hour, Your Grace.”
“An hour,” he countered, a smug grin curving his generous lips.
Lips she recalled working skillfully over hers.
Drat.She must not allow such deplorable thoughts. “Half an hour.”
“An hour.”
She gritted her teeth. “I believe you suffer from a misconception, sir. This is not the manner in which a compromise works. You made your offer, and I raised mine by fifteen minutes in an effort to appease you. However, your counter remained the same as your initial offer.”
His grin grew, flashing a row of white, even teeth. How rare was the sight of his full, heart-clenching charm. For a moment, she could forget everything and everyone but him.
And then he spoke again, dispelling the fancy. “I am more than familiar with compromise, my dear Miss Governess. It is merely that I have no intention of engaging in it with you. I wish an hour of your time, and an hour is what I shall have.”
The devil.“Half an hour is all I can spare.”
He raised a brow. “Two half hours is what I require.”
The utterscoundrel. “That is still one whole hour.”
Whitley’s grin only deepened, as if he were enjoying their banter, the knave. “Miss Governess, I do believe you are proficient at arithmetic as well as all the other requisite fields of study.”
“Here is further proof of my aptitude in that subject: subtract one proficient governess from your household on account of your lack of compromise, and zero governesses shall remain,” she pointed out, because she could not stifle her tongue, could not extinguish her pride.
He extended his arm to her. “I have a different sort of arithmetic in mind. Take one governess who needs to maintain her post, add one demanding duke who can easily dismiss her without reference, and what do you have? Forgive me if I am wrong, but I do believe what remains is a thoroughly routed Miss Governess and a duke who continues to eschew compromise. Allow me to escort you to the library.”
She went. Because his arithmetic was painfully correct.
It was hers that was wrong, for she could not leave her position or this house until she had completed the loathsome task assigned her. She needed to find evidence of his guilt or she and Father faced utter ruin.
Perhaps spending time alone with him was the sole means by which she could have her answers. She could only hope it would not also prove her downfall.
*
Dragooning Miss Turnbowinto joining him in the library was not one of his finer moments. Crispin was willing to admit this to himself if no one else as he poured brandy into a snifter, aware of her unsettling gaze upon him. Those golden-brown orbs of hers did not miss a bloody thing, and he spent half his time in her presence feeling as if she saw straight through to his marrow and half feeling as if she could not abide his loathsome presence.
“Would you care for a brandy, Miss Turnbow?” he asked with a calm he did not feel.
Ordinarily, whisky was his poison of choice, but somehow brandy seemed a safer, more gentlemanly spirit to consume in the presence of a lady. Curse it, when had he begun to concern himself with such nonsense? The ladies in his presence generally served one purpose.
“No thank you, Your Grace,” came her soft, husky voice. “It would not be—”
“Proper,” he finished for her, pouring a splash into a second snifter. “Propriety can go hang.”
“Propriety would gladly hang a governess who overstepped her bounds with a duke,” she reminded him quietly.
It was true, damn it. Of course it was, and the conscience he ordinarily drowned in whisky emerged. She was at the mercy of her reputation. No house of distinction would hire a governess who had been closeted alone with her employer in such a fashion. His time away from London had dulled him to the tedious vagaries of theton. He had spent so many years away from civilized society that returning was an anathema to him. He had never wanted to come back.
After Morgan had been taken byEl Corazón Oscuro, Crispin had been determined to vindicate his friend or die trying. But then his brother’s death had come as well, and he had been forced to return to England and a different sort of duty entirely. Also unwanted. Also grim.
He turned to her, a snifter in each hand, pleased beyond measure she was here with him now and yet disgusted with himself for all but forcing her to. “You are free to leave, Miss Turnbow. I will not hold you against your will.”
She eyed him warily as he approached, offering her the glass. She made no move to accept it, but neither did she flee, and he took it as a hopeful sign. “I confess I do not understand your motivations, Your Grace. You press me for my presence here and now that you have it, you tell me I am free to go.”
