No Good Duke Goes Unpunished (14 page)

He cursed softly and said, “Your pig is getting cold.”

He had released her once she was shielded from the wind, his free hand stealing between them. Mara watched long fingers stroke down Lavender’s little, soft cheek and felt the piglet snuggle into the caress.

For a fleeting moment, she wondered how those fingers would feel on her own cheek. And then she realized she was vaguely jealous of a pig.

Which was unacceptable.

She pulled herself straight, looking up into his face, forcing herself not to notice the way his lips twisted in wry amusement at the piglet’s abandon. “How long will you have me watched?”

He was watching the boys again. “Until I am through with you.”

The words were cold and unwelcoming. And they made her retort easier. “And my trade?”

He stopped stroking Lavender, and returned his cool attention to Mara. “I believe I can extract the information in another way.”

A shiver coursed through her. Trepidation. Fear. Something else that she did not wish to acknowledge.

“No doubt you do. But I am stronger than you think.”

“You are precisely as strong as I think.”

The promise in the words seemed echoed in the cold wind that whipped her skirts against her legs. “And until then, I am the lucky recipient of your watchful eye.”

One side of his mouth kicked up in a humorless smile. “It is good that you see the silver lining in this cloud.”

“More like the lightning storm.” She took a deep breath. “And what is the watch worth to you?”

“Nothing.”

“That was not the agreement.”

“No, the agreement was that I pay you for your time. This is my time. And my men’s.”

“Watching us, like villains.”

“Does it make you feel better, putting me in the role of the villain? Does it help to absolve you of your sins?” The words were soft and unsettling and far too astute.

Mara looked away. “I simply prefer that you and your men not scare the children.”

Temple cut a look at the carriage. “I see that we are threats on that account.”

She followed his gaze, noting that the boys were through with their earlier game and had now set about conquering the huge conveyance. There were seven or eight standing on the roof of the coach, and others scaling the sides with the help of his dark sentry and the coachman.

He and his men had come here, into her life and won over her charges with nothing but a handsome carriage and a few kind words. He’d changed her life in mere days—threatening everything she held dear.

Stripping her of every inch of her control.

She wouldn’t have it.

She clutched Lavender to her chest and extracted the little black book from her pocket. “You’ve had enough of my time today, Your Grace,” she said, opening it. “Shall we call it a crown?”

His brows rose. “I did not ask you to join me.”

She smiled falsely, “But join you, I did. Aren’t you lucky?”

“Oh, yes,” he replied, rocking back on his heels. “I have ever been lucky in your presence.”

She scowled. “A crown it is,” she marked the fee in her book, then turned to the carriage. “Boys!” she called. “It’s time to go in.”

They didn’t hear her. It was as though she did not exist.

“Lads,” he said, and they stopped, frozen in their play. “Enough for today.”

The boys descended as though they’d been waiting for those precise words. Of course they did. Of course they listened to him.

She wanted to scream.

Instead she headed for the house, making it halfway across the street before she realized he was on her heels, as though his escort was perfectly ordinary. She stopped. As did he.

“You are not invited in.”

His lips twitched. “The truth will out, Mara.”

She scowled at him. “Not today.”

His brows rose. “Tomorrow, then.”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“On whether you intend to bring your purse.”

He chuckled at that, the laughter there, then gone, and she hated herself for enjoying the sound.

“I require you in the evening,” he said quietly. “I imagine it’s another ten pounds for the privilege?”

The words unsettled, the discussion of money somehow powerful on her lips and insulting on his. But she refused to acknowledge the way it made her feel. “That’s a fair start.”

He watched her for a long moment, something equally disquiet in his countenance.

Something she ignored.

Chapter 8

W
hen Mara entered her office the following morning, it was to discover that Lydia was a traitor.

Lydia was perched on the edge of a small chair on one side of Mara’s desk, in casual conversation with the Duke of Lamont, as though it was perfectly ordinary for a man of his size and ilk to loiter in an orphanage, and equally ordinary for a governess to keep him company. Lydia was tittering, fairly hanging on every one of his words, when Mara shut the door behind her with a snap.

Temple stood, and Mara ignored the warmth that spread through her. It was December. And bitterly cold, as the coal delivery had not yet arrived. This man was not warming. She redirected her attention to Lydia. “We’re allowing just anyone in these days?”

Lydia had worked alongside Mara for long enough not to be cowed. “The duke indicated that you had an appointment.”

“We don’t.” She rounded her desk and sat. “You may leave, Your Grace. I am quite busy.”

He did not leave. Instead, he returned to his chair and overflowed the delicate piece of furniture. “Perhaps you don’t remember. We agreed that I would return today.”

“We agreed you would return
this evening
.”

“Miss Baker invited me in.”

“He was outside when I woke,” Lydia explained. “It’s bitterly cold, and I thought he might like tea.”

Temple had clearly addled the other woman’s brain.

“He does not want tea.”

“Tea sounds lovely.” There was perhaps no word stranger on this enormous man’s lips than
lovely.

“You don’t drink tea,” Mara pointed out.

“I’m thinking of starting.”

Lydia stood. “I shall ring for it.”

“No need, Miss Baker, I can’t drink it.”

Lydia looked crestfallen. “Why not?”

Mara answered for him. “Because he’s afraid I’ll poison him.”

“Oh,” the other woman said. “Yes, I can imagine that is a worry.” She leaned toward Temple. “I would not poison you, Your Grace.”

He grinned. “I believe you.”

Mara huffed her disapproval, glaring at Lydia. “This is a betrayal.”

Lydia seemed to be enjoying herself entirely too much. “It’s only fair, considering we are putting him to work today.”

“I beg your pardon?” Mara could not help her exclamation. Nor the way she shot to her feet.

Temple stood, as well.

“He’s offered to help with the boys.”

Mara sat. “He cannot.”

Temple sat.

She looked to him. “What are you doing?”

He shrugged. “A gentleman does not sit when a lady stands,” he said, simply.

“So you’re a gentleman now? Yesterday you were a self-professed scoundrel.”

“Perhaps I am turning over a new leaf.” One side of his mouth rose in a small smile. “Like tea.”

A smile that brought attention to his lips.

Those infuriating lips about which she had no intention of thinking.

Dear God. She’d kissed him.

No. She wouldn’t think on it.

She scowled at him. “I highly doubt that.”

He was infuriating. She stood again.

As did he, patient as ever.

She sat, knowing she was being obstinate, but not much caring.

He remained standing.

“Shouldn’t you sit, as a gentleman?” she snapped.

“The standing-sitting rule does not hold true in reverse. I think it might be best if I remain standing while you—frustrate.”

Mara narrowed her gaze on him. “I assure you, Your Grace, if you wait for me to cease
frustrating
, you may never sit again.”

Lydia’s blue eyes gleamed with unreleased laughter.

Mara glared at her. “If you laugh, I shall set Lavender loose in your bedchamber in the dead of night. You shall awake to pig noises.”

The threat worked. Lydia sobered. “It is simply that the gentleman offered, and it occurs to me that the boys could benefit from a man’s tutelage.”

Mara’s gaze went wide. “You must be joking.”

“Not at all,” Lydia said. “There are things the boys should learn for which we are—not ideal.”

“Nonsense. We are excellent teachers.”

Lydia cleared her throat and passed a small piece of paper across the desk to Mara. “I confiscated this from Daniel’s reader yesterday evening.”

Mara unfolded the paper to discover a line drawing of— “What is . . .” She turned the paper and tilted her head. Temple leaned over the desk, his head now dangerously close to her own—and turned the page once more. At which point everything became clear.

She folded the paper with military efficiency, heat spreading furiously across her face. “He’s a child!”

Lydia inclined her head. “Apparently, boys of eleven are rather curious.”

“Well, it is entirely inappropriate for
him
to address their curiosity.” She waved a hand in Temple’s direction, refusing to look at him.
Unable
to look at him. “Not that he isn’t well qualified to serve as an expert, I imagine.”

“I shall take that as a compliment,” he said, far too close to her.

She turned in her chair to look up at him. “It was not meant as one. I was merely pointing out your libidinous ways.”

His brows rose. “Libidinous.”

“Roguish. Rakish. Scallawaginous. Scoundrelly.”

“I’m certain that some of those words are not words.”

“Now you’re angling for a position as governess?”

“If the boys are learning words like
scallawaginous
, it might not be the worst idea.”

Mara turned to Lydia. “He is leaving.”

“Mara,” Lydia said. “He’s ideal. He’s a duke, and, I imagine, was trained as a gentleman.”

“He’s a fighter for heaven’s sake. He owns a gaming hell. He’s no kind of tutor for young, impressionable men who must be models of gentlemanliness.”

“I was quite skilled in the gentlemanly arts, once.”

Mara cut him a look. “You, sirrah, could have fooled me.”

The words were out before she could stop them—knowing instantly that she’d reminded him of the night that had caused all this difficulty, that had set them on the path to this moment, where he appeared destined to overtake every aspect of her life.

His gaze darkened. “I might remind you that I was the one who was fooled that evening,
Mrs. MacIntrye
.” The emphasis on the false name had her pressing her lips together as he addressed Lydia. “I am free for the day and happy to tutor your young charges in any aspect of gentlemanliness required.”

The entire situation was out of control.

She did not want him here. Close. Anywhere near her. The man was plotting her demise. She didn’t want him near her boys or her friend or her life.

She didn’t want him. Full stop.

It did not matter that she’d spent much of the night tossing and turning in her little bed, thinking on the kiss they’d shared. And the way he’d handled the boys, clamoring in and out of his coach yesterday.

It did not matter that when she forgot about their past, she rather liked him in the present. None of it mattered. Not when he held her future and the future of this orphanage in his hands.

“Has it escaped both of your attentions that I am the mistress of this orphanage? And that I have no intention of allowing this man to stay for the day?”

“Nonsense,” Lydia said. “You wouldn’t limit the boys’ access to a duke.”

“Not exactly the most in-demand duke of the
ton
.” The words were out before she knew they’d formed. Temple stiffened. Lydia’s mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. And Mara felt like an ass. “I did not mean—”

His gaze found hers, guarded. “Of course not.”

“I know better than any that—”

He did not speak. She turned to Lydia, hoping for help, and the governess simply shook her head, wide-eyed. And guilt spread through Mara, hot and unpleasant. She had to repair the damage. She returned her attention to Temple. “You are schooled in the courtly arts?”

He met her gaze for a long moment before executing a perfect bow, and looking more ducal than Mara had ever seen him. “I am.”

A truce.

“And appropriate conversation with ladies?” Lydia was grateful for the détente, her gaze flickering to the paper in Mara’s hand. “We may need a bit of that.”

“I have had few complaints.”

He was an excellent conversationalist. Mara had no doubt.

Lydia continued. “And sport? I think sport has been neglected from the boys’ education for far too long.”

Mara huffed at that. “The man is built like a Greek god. I think sport is the one thing he can teach them.”

The words rattled around the room, shocking everyone. Lydia’s eyes went wide. Temple went still.

Mara’s mouth dropped open.

She hadn’t said it.

A Greek god?

It was his fault. He’d scrambled her thoughts. And he was interjecting himself into every aspect of her life—every bit for which she’d worked so hard and fought so long. Surely that was what had made her say it.

A Greek god??

She closed her eyes and willed him to lose the power of speech. Immediately and irreversibly. “Obviously, I didn’t mean—”

“Well. Thank you.”

In the entire history of time, had willing ever worked?

She straightened. Soldiered on. “I would not take it as a compliment. The Greek gods were a strange bunch. Always turning into animals and abducting virgins.”

Dear God. Could she not keep her mouth shut?

“It’s not such a terrible fate, that,” he said.

Lydia snickered.

Mara glared at her. “You just asked him to teach the boys to be gentlemen.”

Lydia turned enormous eyes on Temple. “Your Grace, you do realize you cannot speak to the boys in such . . . innuendo.”

“Of course,” he said. “But you do realize that your employer started it.”

Mara wanted to tread upon his foot. But seeing as he was a great giant of a man, she doubted he would feel it at all.

“Well then. It’s settled,” Lydia said, as though it were. Which it seemed to be, despite Mara being against the entire thing. “You shall spend the morning with the boys, and they will no doubt learn a great deal.” She turned to Mara, immense meaning in her eyes as she finished, casually, “And perhaps once you have spent the day with the boys, you and Mrs. MacIntyre can discuss a charitable donation to our very good work.”

Lydia was nothing if not shrewd. Where Mara looked at Temple and saw a dangerous foe, Lydia saw a wealthy potential ally. A man who could pay all their bills.

Temple raised a brow. “Your business acumen rivals that of your employer.”

Lydia smiled. “I shall take that as a compliment.”

She shouldn’t, of course.

Temple would not simply decide to give to the orphanage. He, too, was shrewd. And their best chance of paying their bills was for Mara to continue on her path. A thread of unease slid through her at the mercenary thought. She ignored it.

This was about the orphanage and the boys’ safety.

Her means would justify that end.

Lydia stood then. “Well. This is a treat. It’s not every day a duke gives up his title to take on work.”

“I hear it happens quite often in novels,” Temple said.

“This is not exactly a novel,” Mara said. In a novel, she’d be a perfect, beautiful maid with an unblemished past to match her complexion. And he’d be a handsome, brooding duke.

Well, the last bit was rather like real life, she supposed.

“Really?” he teased, “I confess, the events of the last week have been strange enough to convince me otherwise.”

Lydia laughed. “Indeed.”

Mara pointed at her. “Do not come to like him.”

The laugh turned into a grin. “That might prove difficult.”

Temple bowed.

They were flirting now, and it occurred to Mara that if this were a novel, she would not be the heroine. Lydia might be. The kind, pretty, blond governess, with bright laughs and big eyes, just the thing to turn the brooding duke around.

Mara scowled. It was not a novel.

“Lydia, prepare the boys for a special lesson with His Grace,” she said, meeting Temple’s eyes. “You remain here.”

Curiosity flooded Lydia’s expression, but she knew better than to linger, leaving immediately to collect her charges. Once the door closed behind her, she came around the desk to face him. “You needn’t do this.”

“It’s kind of you to think of my comfort.”

“I did not mean to imply that I was doing that.”

His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I shall infer it nonetheless.”

He was distracting. She could smell the clove and thyme on him—the salve she’d spread on his wound while he’d waited patiently, her fingers sliding over his warm, smooth skin.

And from there, it was a quick leap to the memory of his lips on hers.

She couldn’t believe she’d kissed him.

Could believe even less that he’d kissed her in return.

And she would not think on the fact that she’d liked it.

Or that
like
seemed not at all a strong enough word for how the caress had made her feel.

He was smirking now, as though he knew the thoughts that were running through her mind.

She cleared her throat. Straightened her shoulders. “The boys do not have much time with gentlemen. They will be interested in you.”

He nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Don’t . . .” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “Don’t make them like you.”

His brows rose.

“It will only make it harder when you leave and never return. Don’t let them grow attached to you.” Suddenly, the possibility of becoming attached to him did not seem so unrealistic.

There was a thick hesitation before he said, “It’s just a morning, Mara.”

She nodded, ignoring the way the words twisted in the air between them. “I’ll have your word on that.”

He exhaled on a little huff. Humor? Frustration? “As a gentleman? Or a scoundrel?”

“As both.”

He nodded. “My word, as both.”

She opened the door, turned back to him, trying not to notice how handsome he was. How tempting. “I hope at least one of them sticks.”

He left, and she closed the door behind him. After several moments of wanting to follow him, she turned the lock, and returned to her desk.