He stomped his foot. His reaction to Mrs. Montrosedid notcount as lightning strike number three. He was long-journey weary, that was all. Sapped by months of intrigue in Vienna and unnerved by finding his godchild wandering in a hedge.
No wonder he’d had an instinctive, mindless reaction to an attractive, saucy lass with tucked-up skirts and uncommonly vibrant hair!
Lust born of fatigue. His shoulders relaxed.Yes.
A perfectly reasonable explanation. In his weariness, his body had merely confusedinterestwitharousal. He’d beeninterestedin the nursemaid before they’d even met.Interestedbecause he’d known nothing about her but for the fact she appeared in his tight, family-by-choice circle while he’d been away and quickly assumed a prominent place in his godchildren’s affections.
Children may trust easily; he did not.
He’d hoped to use his first encounter with the nursemaid to read unintentional signals others might fail to notice. Instead, he’d wasted his advantage and allowedherto unravelhim.Then again, he hadn’t exactlyallowedthe unraveling. He’d simply come undone.
Enough.
He kicked clumps of wet gravel he’d scraped from his boots off the slate pathway.
He was a healthy, powerful, well-traveled man of three and thirty. He could not beundoneby the sight of a calf. Or curl. Or a bloodynursemaid, for that matter.
Abadnursemaid, at that.
Hedid not have such thoughts aboutanyonein his own or in any friend’s employ. And he especially did not have such thoughts about a woman who, judging by her reaction to his intentionally misleading question about her name, he was now certain hadsomethingto hide.
Mrs. Montrose, indeed.
Sly humbug, more like.
He resolved to converse with her again. Next time, he would make certain she was not able to distract him.
“You see, love?—”
Alicia, Duchess of Ashbey.Hurtheven winced—judging from the proximity of her voice, she was standing just behind him.Now, he must addoblivious to his surroundingsto his list of this morning’s blunders.
“—Mypoint is proven,” she continued. “ItisHurtheven scurrying about our kitchen gardens.”
Hurtheven schooled his features and then turned. Alicia and Ash stood together, as always, a vision of darkness and light.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace.” Hurtheven said with mock offense. “I neverscurry.”
“Perhaps not.” Alicia stepped forward, took his hands into her own and kissed his cheek. She gazed up at him with a merry twinkle in her eye. “I maintain, however, that themannerin which you moved came perilously close to a skulk.”
“When?” he demanded.
“As you were making your way over to our boot scrape.”
He rolled back his shoulders and raised his chin as if affronted.
She laughed. “That look may terrify the children?—”
“And a few royal advisors,” Ash added.
“—but you cannot scare me,” she finished. She tapped her palm against his chest. “I’ve seen the soft heart under all that bluster…”
Soft heart?He lifted a brow.God forbid.
“…Anyway, the point Ash and I were disputing was not your gait, but your location, which is—unarguably, the kitchen garden.” Alicia turned to Ash with an expectant expression.
“I concede, my dear.” Ashbey bowed. “I was certain the gossip couldn’t be true, as my dear friend wouldneverarrive without properly greeting his host.”
Ouch. “Apologies. I was anxious to see the children after so long a time abroad. In my haste, I’d forgotten you’d be entertaining today.”
