“Father, there you are!” Harriet jumped up, gesturing eagerly at Frances. “This is my new tutor!”
Father?Frances swallowed a choke of surprise.
The man fixed a cold, blue-eyed stare upon her, his gaze sharp and assessing. In a low, suspicious voice that sent a shiver through her every nerve, he replied, “Is she now? And who decided that?”
CHAPTER TWO
The Duke of Alderwick thundered into the drawing room, and all of that luxurious warmth from the crackling fire seemed to excuse itself, leaving Frances shuddering on the settee.
No wonder no one else has sought out this position…
He would have been handsome if not for his grim scowl.Veryhandsome, in truth. Even his unshaven face did not do him a disservice; rather, it gave him a rugged appeal that Frances knew her sisters, Juliet in particular, would have swooned over. The antithesis of the well-kept, well-groomed, immaculately presented gentlemen of society.
Not at all what she had expected. Not at all unpleasant to behold, though she could not understand how he had a grown daughter of eighteen.
“Who are you?” he said curtly, as he sank down onto the opposite settee.
He seemed to dwarf the furniture with his staggering height and tremendous breadth, though all Frances could focus on was the tear in his trousers. She had her sewing things with her; it would not have taken long to fix.
Stop looking at his legs, for goodness’ sake!Her head snapped up, her breath catching as she met those steely blue eyes. They, too, would have been exceptionally beautiful if they were not narrowed at her in obvious distrust, shining with a warning that she had no choice but to ignore.
“I am Frances Whitlock,” she replied, surprised that her voice was not shaking as much as the rest of her.
He drummed his fingertips on the armrest of the settee, drawing her attention back to that fresh cut on his hand. “Whitlock… Why do I know the name?”
“I… um… well, you see…” She floundered, torn between the truth and the mild lie that was supposed to protect her, to hide her from scrutiny.
Yet, she had the feeling that he would see right through her if she tried to conceal her identity. Those blue eyes were already piercing straight into the very heart of her, setting her nerves on edge. An unusual, grayish shade of blue, with a freckle in his left iris.
“Who are you?” he demanded to know, his tone harsh.
She dropped her chin to her chest and sucked in a breath for courage. “I am Lady Frances Whitlock, eldest daughter to the Earl of Highbridge, and I am here to answer your request for a governess. Someone to teach your daughter about society, so that she may have the best advantage when she debuts.”
The words rattled out of her, for she feared she might not be able to speak at all if she hesitated a moment longer.
“I knew the name was familiar,” the duke said quietly, his full lips set in a grim line. “You are the one who punched Lord Sherbourne in the face.”
Frances’ jaw dropped, and she almost leapt up in indignation. “I did not punch him, Your Grace,” she protested, her face flooding with embarrassment. “I do not know where you heard that, all the way out here, but it is not true.”
“What happened, then?” he asked, his eyebrow raised.
Her hands clenched into frustrated fists. How could word of what she had done have reached this place so soon? How was it possible that he knew who she was? Panic began to rise up in a suffocating tide, as she realized that she might be cast out, her journey pointless, with nowhere else to go.
“He was discourteous and he had the gall to grab me when I was trying to walk away,” she replied, as she pulled her shouldersback and straightened her posture. “I wanted a peaceable end to our unfortunate dance, but he thought he was entitled to speak to me and seize me however he pleased. So, I slapped him.”
Leaning over the back of the settee, apparently unafraid of this gruff and grizzled man, Harriet let out an excitable gasp. “How thrilling! Did you hit him very hard? Goodness, I do not even know the man, and I should like to hit him.”
“I hit him hard enough that everyone at the ball was aware of it,” Frances answered, refusing to apologize or make excuses for the Viscount’s abhorrent behavior.
She was not proud of it, not at all, but she was determined to defend herself. Her father might not have listened, but the duke would.
“Apparently, I hit him hard enough that news of it has echoed all the way to Bath already,” she added, shaking her head in irritation.
Harriet stifled a snort and tapped her father lightly on the shoulder. “I like her already, Papa. You have always said that it is vital for me to learn how to defend myself, so she is perfect!”
He seemed unmoved, his attention unwavering. “And you have come here to what—bring your shame on my household instead?”
Harriet glowered at him. “Father!”
